Hiding in Reflections
by Zizichan96
Summary: Kurt is a high school student who is bullied every day because of who he is, but that is nothing compared to what happens at home, where nobody sees. Only now there's someone who isn't going to let him hide anymore. abused!Kurt BUT NOT BY BURT. Angst.
1. Prologue

**well, hi! Okay, this is my first Glee fic, and it's based on the idea of an abused!Kurt. PLEASE NOTE THAT BURT IS NOT THE ONE ABUSING KURT. I love Burt WAY too much for that to ever happen, so it's not Burt. In this AU, Burt is NOT Kurt's father. In this, Burt is Kurt's uncle, and he loves and accepts him just as much as in the series. Kurt's abusive father is an OC. Just... read on to find out! **

**Basically, my best friend and beta got me hooked on fanfics, and she's an angst lover so... yeah. I love now love angst, though I never say no to a little fluff... so there will be a bit of fluff! XD And we've both read a lot of abused!Blaine ones, but never any Kurt (cause obviously Burt is awesome) so we decided to give it a shot. **

**Said best friend and amazing beta is blaineanderporn on tumblr, so if you have any questions or just want to check it out because she's brilliant, feel free!**

**Warnings: explicit description of physical violence, trigger warning for child abuse, lots of use of foul insults and name calling in later chapters, may also include smut in later chapters, LOTS OF ANGST. Pg-13 for now, but may go up later. oh, and Klaine endgame, obviously. XD**

**EDIT - 17.03.12 - Hello again guys, and hello to new readers too :) SO I was reading this through the other day, and my own writing started to really annoy me: because it was all in the present tense. I had a think about it and started rewriting some of it, and I've changed it to the past. There may be a few errors in there, so feel free to point them out! Enjoy! XD**

* * *

><p>PROLOGUE<p>

It had been nearly eight years. Nearly eight years since she died, since his world had been shattered into millions of tiny, razor sharp pieces. Nearly eight years since those little broken pieces had been melded together again, forced into a mish-mashed collection of bits that used to be part of something so whole and beautiful it hurt, actually physically hurt, to remember it. But it was a twisted, messed up picture that made up his life, that had made up his life for nearly eight years.

It was all angles. Incomplete half shapes. Painful jutting edges. And reflections. Oh, there were so many reflections that Kurt didn't even know where to begin. Reflections upon reflections. Mirrored images of truths and lies, that were almost indistinguishable from each other, twisted and tangled together.

If you looked behind the mirrors, you could see it. Kurt was certain of that. Something so different, so twisted out of shape from what it used to be could not possibly be completely buried. But the mirrors were good at their job, because nobody saw it. Nobody ventured behind the mirrors except Kurt and his father. Just them. Them and the empty beer bottles.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

With a sigh, Kurt pushed the bottles into the dumpster, wedging them in among the bags of school leftovers and wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell of rotting food that wafted into his nose. The smell of alcohol, piss and vomit he was at least used to. But that stench of decay made him feel sick to his stomach. Though he would probably soon be used to that as well, what with his ever frequent trips into dumpsters like this one.

Straightening his sweater, he shifted his satchel uncomfortably on his left shoulder, grimacing slightly as the strap chafed against the tender skin even through the ridiculously thick woolen pullover he was wearing that day. Ignoring his discomfort, he hurried around the corner and slipped though a back door into the corridor, an entrance he suspected that nobody but him and the janitor used.

He wouldn't normally have risked bringing the beer bottles with him to school, even if it was safer to hide them in the school bins because they never checked the contents, but he was so hopped up on ibuprofen that morning that he barely had time to do his hair, never mind find somewhere to discreetly park his navigator and dispose of the bottles.

But he was on time, and no one had caught him with them, so he supposed that this time his slip-up had gone unnoticed. With another weary sigh, he moved with the crowds into the main corridor, effortlessly blending in and yet still eliciting several vicious looks and jeers. As always, he ignored them, struggling to contain an eye-roll as someone commented on his 'nice sweater', passing him before he could take in more than a letterman jacket.

Of course. A jock. Again. Though Kurt wouldn't have thought otherwise; only a jock would comment on his sweater when, actually, it was the most toned down outfit Kurt had worn in a while. Over the weekend he had finally deemed the red swelling on his wrists healed enough to stop with the arm accessories. Though that had been fun.

Smirking at the memory of the looks he had received the Friday before, when he had come in with neon arm and leg warmers, he reached his locker. Unscathed so far, though the telltale way the crowd at the end of the corridor was beginning to part warned him that it might not stay that way. He could only hope that it wouldn't be a slushie today. He _needed_ this sweater, and he would certainly get some looks from people like Mercedes if he insisted on wearing despite it being stained with food colouring. He began to fiddle with his lock, feigning indifference as he opened it. Nothing good ever came from reacting.

It was Azimio this morning; approaching him with lumbering movements that, in Kurt's opinion, reflected the level of his IQ rather accurately. Thankfully there was no slushie in sight. Kurt could not hold back a small sigh of relief at the fact that whatever Azimio was going to pull, he would be able to keep his sweater on.

Watching the jock out of the corner of his eye, he quickly determined that it would be a standard locker shove as he passed Kurt. It was laughable, really, how easily Kurt could deduct this, and even more laughable how easily he could dodge out of the way. It would be been so easy, almost _too_ easy to just roll out of the way and then slip off before the boy had even figured out what had happened. But that would count as reacting, and nothing good ever came from reacting.

Hands reached out, their brief, unwelcome weight shoving on his chest and shoulder, and slammed him into the locker. Standard. Only this time, a wave of pain far stronger than it should have been suddenly crashed into him, sweeping through his head with such intensity that for a few moments all Kurt could do was clench his eyes shut and try to grasp at the lockers behind him.

"Alright, fancy-boy? Aww, did the locker hurt your wittle body? Faggot."

_Ow, ow, ow, ow, shit. That hurt._ He really should have used his brain; he had seen it coming, hadn't he? He was wearing the thick sweater to try and hide the swelling for crap's sake, surely he could have remembered to roll and take the impact on the less bruised one like last week! Though it was also a really nice sweater which he knew he looked totally hot in, but still.

_Hell, it shouldn't still be hurting like this, should it?_ He began to worry that he had somehow done something to it that would require proper medical attention, that was how much it hurt. God, he hoped not. Slings were so hard to wear with any style. And the colours were so limited he felt faint just thinking about it.

"Hey, are you alright?" Kurt blinked as the words filtered through the haze of pain to his brain. Slowly, he straightened, his eyes casting about to try and locate the source of the words. The image wavered before his eyes as he blinked away the moisture, but he was suddenly very aware of a colour.

Hazel.

Rather nice hazel, too. He'd never bought hazel cloth before; it wasn't a very common colour. The only vaguely hazel thing he'd ever bought was tartan, and technically that wasn't even hazel; just green and brown criss-crossed over each other. And it wasn't half as pretty as this hazel.

Slowly, he became aware that there was a hand gently touching his shoulder, and reality crashed back around him with a rush of noise and colour, and he instinctively flinched away.

"Woah, hey, sorry… I just… um. Are you okay?" Kurt blinked again, straightening against the locker as he finally fully took in the person talking to him, and not just the rather distractingly beautiful colour of his eyes.

He was well built, but not in the same way as a jock - more like… more like Mike; like he was not just strong but flexible as well. Despite his pain, Kurt could not help but feel a flash of horror at the sheer amount of gel this boy had on his head; what Kurt _thought_ may have been hair was practically solid; he could tell just by looking, and he suddenly had a strange urge to run his fingers through it just so he could see what it looked like naturally.

His face was sculpted, and while the bushiness of his eyebrows would have made Kurt pass out had they been on nearly any other person, on him it was somehow… perfect. This boy was perfect, he decided. Even if his bowtie was wonky.

Hell, it was perfect wonky. Everyone should just stop wearing them straight, it looked so much better the way this boy was wearing it.

And that's when Kurt realised he really had to stop thinking.

"Uh… are you really okay?" the voice cut in again, and Kurt blinked back to reality, realising with a jolt that he had been gazing for longer than was really polite, rubbing the swellings on his shoulder absentmindedly as he did so.

"Oh! Uh, yeah… yeah, I'm fine." He answered, his voice a little higher than usual. The boy smiled and _oh god I think I've just forgotten how to breathe. _This boy really was perfect.

"Oh, good… I'm Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson. I'm new here…" Kurt blinked again, feeling slightly light-headed as he tried not to stare at Blaine's perfect, perfect mouth.

"Uh… Kurt. Kurt Eleryn." Blaine held out a hand, still smiling and compromising Kurt's ability for coherent thought, and eventually Kurt remembered what he was supposed to do; reaching out with his own to shake it gently.

Blaine's hand was calloused, but somehow still soft. Blaine smiled again, and Kurt_ thought_ he managed to smile back. Probably.

"Are you _sure_ you're alright? Cause, that was mean… what those guys did, I mean." Kurt let out a dry laugh as he turned to his locker to retrieve his books.

"That was a good day." He muttered, his eyes flickering up to Blaine's face upon hearing his intake of shocked breath.

"You mean…" Blaine struggled for a moment, before taking the plunge. "This… happens a lot?" Kurt could not hold back another laugh as he slammed his locker shut, taking his anger at the jocks out on the thin metal.

"Oh, yeah. Every day." He smiled bitterly, clicking the combination on his lock shut and shifting his bag once more, barely managing to hide his wince at the flare of pain. Having bruised shoulders really sucked.

"Kurt, that's awful! You have to… have you told anyone about this?" Blaine asked, hurrying after Kurt as he began to turn away. He fixed Blaine with a look.

"Blaine, this is public school. What do you think?" He asked, softening the words with a smile because he really, really liked this boy already, and he wasn't trying to be mean, he really wasn't, it was just… frustrating. And god, his brain was so fuzzy from pain killers, he could hardly think.

Blaine blushed, looking sheepish, which immediately told Kurt that despite his choir-boy appearance, he had been to public school at some point.

"Ah, sorry… I guess I've kind of… see, I went to Dalton? Over in Westerfield?" Blaine asked, swerving towards Kurt to avoid a Cheerio.

"Oh, the gay school?" Kurt replied bluntly, his filter very much worn away by a combination of pain, medication and Blaine's presence. Blaine chuckled, shaking his head and making Kurt's stomach do strange things. He wondered briefly if it was the ibuprofen.

"Well, no, but that's a common mistake. Most of the guys are straight, but they have a really strict no bullying policy; so I guess a lot of gay people were attracted to it like I was." Blaine mused, his mouth still curved up in amusement at Kurt's bluntness, but all Kurt could do was thank his luck that Blaine was gay. But no… he shouldn't be happy that Blaine is gay. Because that meant that Blaine could get close, and while he so, so, so badly wanted this boy close, as close as possible, that was not allowed.

"But anyway, I'm sorry. I guess I'm used to Dalton… but, surely it would help if you told _someone_?" He persisted, and Kurt sighed, stopping on his heel and swivelling to face Blaine.

"Did it help when you told people?" He asked bluntly, thoroughly discarding the idea of tact and also screwing the fact that he wanted Blaine to like him, because that could not happen. Blaine looked shocked, and Kurt felt a pang of regret. His mouth opened and he very nearly apologised, but he clamped it shut the next instant as he remembered why Blaine couldn't get close.

"How did…?" Blaine trailed off, still staring at Kurt in amazement. Kurt let out one of those high, sarcastic laughs that he had grown very practised at from months of dealing with Rachel Berry. But using them on Rachel had never ever been accompanied by the wave of guilt that hit him in that next instant. Resolutely, Kurt continued.

"How did I know that you were bullied?" He clarified, and Blaine nodded wordlessly. "You said you went to Dalton. But the fact that you knew that it wouldn't help if I told people means you at least went to a public school at some point. You also said you were attracted to the strict 'no-bullying' policy at Dalton. Easy enough to figure out." Kurt shrugged, and turns to leave again, heart heavy, but Blaine's hand shot out and caught him on the arm, swinging him back around to face him.

Kurt could not hold back his grimace that time; Blaine's hand had unwittingly landed on the bandage wrapped around his right upper arm, concealed by long sleeves for over two weeks now. And Kurt saw instantly that Blaine had noticed his wince, because he let go at once, concern crossing his beautiful features.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" He cried, his hands fluttering uselessly around his shoulders. Kurt also couldn't stop the smile that flitted across his face, and Blaine caught this too, relaxing.

"Sorry…" he murmured sheepishly, and Kurt knew he should've take advantage of it, should've made sure that Blaine didn't get under his skin even more, but all he could do was shake his head in reassurance.

"But that… that was quite cool actually." He grinned, and Kurt frowned at him, bemused, so he expanded. "The way you just… figured it out. Just like that. I mean, you're right, I was bullied, but like, nobody really noticed for the longest time, you know? Not until I actually told them. But you just saw it, from two minutes of conversation? Amazing… I don't think anyone's ever paid that much attention to what I say before." Blaine said simply, shrugging.

"Oh?" he murmured, struggling to keep his voice neutral. "I think I'm just observant." He answered, mind whirring with slight panic, wondering half-hysterically what Blaine would say if Kurt told him he was just really good at spotting people who'd been hurt. Like recognises like, and all that.

Wow, he was rambling a lot today. "And, uh, now I really have to go to my class, so…" He trailed off, and Blaine jumped with realisation.

"Oh! Yeah, of course. But… see you later, Kurt?" He asked shyly, an adorable blush tingeing his cheeks, and Kurt nodded, helpless. Blaine beamed at him, before hurrying off down the corridor with a cheerful wave, which Kurt returned dazedly.

What on earth had he gotten himself into?

* * *

><p><strong>Soooo, thoughts?<strong>

**I'm a bit worried about this, because I don't actually remember consciously characterising Blaine, he sort of just... appeared. So let me know what you think!**

**And thanks again to my lovely beta who seriously made this amazing! Kisses for you! ;)**


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The daze that was both from catching his still swollen shoulder on the locker and from meeting Blaine (though it was more due to the latter than Kurt wanted to admit) lasted until just before lunch, when his painkillers abruptly wore off halfway through French.

He couldn't risk taking more ibuprofen in class; the last time he'd tried not only had the teacher caught him, he'd also spent the next two weeks fending off taunting jeers about it being 'his time of the month'. As if.

So he had to wait, although being able to vent at Azimio in French definitely helped. But by the time the bell rang, he was gasping, hands shaking as he swallowed the pills down in the privacy of a locked bathroom cubicle. He doesn't normally venture into the bathrooms - the temptation of introducing his perfectly coiffed hair to a toilet bowl would, he's sure, prove too much for some of his fellow students, and god, that's _not_ going to happen to his hair ever again if he can help it.

It was bad enough that his poor locks were subjected all too regularly to sticky iced beverages, and he was not about to let other kinds of sticky in there. The memory of the last time that happened still made him shudder.

So he escaped the bathrooms before his medication had properly kicked in, which he really knows is a bad idea, but he couldn't stay in there. He hurried to his locker, placing the heavier books inside to lighten the pressure on his shoulder while he anxiously waited for the pain to ebb away.

The hand that then clapped down on said shoulder really does not help things.

Just about containing a yelp, he turned to face Mercedes pointedly.

"'Cedes, what have we said about touching the clothes?" He asked waspishly, still reeling from the sting of her hand. Rolling her eyes, the shorter girl held her hands up defensively.

"Chill, Kurt, it's just a sweater." She said, and he glared at her.

"It is _not_ 'just a sweater', Mercedes. This is Marc Jacobs 2008 winter collection!" He snapped, and she smiles knowingly at him.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry." He glared at her a little more before turning back to his locker, knowing that if he met her gaze for too long she would notice his discomfort. He could practically sense her rolling her eyes as she leant against the locker next to his.

"Anyway, are we going or not? I want my tots!" She said, a little too cheerfully, after several seconds of silence. He shot her a suspicious glance, but smiled slightly to let her know that she was forgiven, and with a beam she linked her arm through his, as always not noticing his half wince as she dragged him eagerly towards the canteen and her precious tater tots.

Kurt had decided that today was not a salad day. He wasn't sure why, only that it was not. He picked listlessly at his plate, poking at the limpid, wet green stuff with his fork and wondering _why_ on earth anyone would want to eat the sickly salad the school provides.

"Kurt, that guy over there is waving at you…" Tina's curious voice broke through his thoughts and he blinked, before turning in his seat to follow her gaze. Only to come face to face with Blaine making his enthusiastic way towards him, beaming.

"Hey Kurt!" He greeted him cheerfully, _good god, how is it _possible_ to have this much energy?_ before nudging aside Kurt's bag and plopping down in the seat next to him.

"Oh, wait, do you mind if I sit here?" He asked suddenly, eyes widening as he realised that there are other people, all currently staring at him agape, besides Kurt.

He glanced at Kurt pleadingly, and he sighed, cursing himself for not being able to stand up to those damn puppy-dog eyes.

"Yes, Blaine, it's fine. Ignore them, someone with as much energy as you on the first day back to school would blow the mind of any sane person." He said primly, turning back to his salad and pointedly ignoring Mercedes' questioning look. Blaine relaxed, running a sheepish hand through- no, _over _his hair, seeing as Kurt was pretty sure it would take at least six showers just to convince Blaine's hair that it was in fact hair and not solid.

Great, now he's thinking about Blaine in the shower.

"Hey guys! I'm Blaine, I just transferred here." He smiled, his energy toning down a notch while the others around the table introduced themselves, seemingly caught in exactly the same daze that had captured Kurt earlier.

Mercedes, Tina, Mike and Sam all nodded at him, apparently unable to say anything other than their names while Kurt eyed his salad curiously again.

"Kurt, why are you eating that?" Blaine asked suddenly, having abruptly ducked down close to eye the wilted leaves with much the same slightly disgusted look that was on Kurt's face earlier. Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Because it's lunch time, Blaine. Generally, people eat at lunch time?" He replied sarcastically, trying to keep his heart in his _chest, dammit_ when Blaine's mouth quirked up.

"Well, yeah, but… that doesn't look all that appetising." He explained doubtfully, and that time Kurt did roll his eyes.

"That's the thing, it's cafeteria food. Since when does any of it actually look appetising?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Blaine, who wrinkled his nose. He actually _wrinkled_ it and god if it wasn't the most adorable thing Kurt had ever seen.

"Good point. I miss Dalton food already and it's only the first day!" He moaned, but the glint in his eye let Kurt know that he was joking. Shaking his head at him, he turned back to face the table only to find all of the others staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Which, in retrospect, he may as well have.

Because Kurt is not friendly. He does not chat with new transfers. He does not really talk to_ people_ unless they ask a direct question. And he most certainly does not banter.

In short, Kurt is antisocial and extremely private, so comfortably talking to Blaine is _not_ normal for him. Hence the second head.

"So, Blaine, how did you meet Kurt?" Mercedes eventually asked, turning her gaze from Kurt when she realised that he's not about to give her an answer. Blaine looked at Kurt, an unspoken question in his eyes. Almost imperceptibly, Kurt shook his head as Blaine turned back to the others.

"Just this morning. I ran into him by his locker. I know it seems like we're really friendly, but I think that's just me!" Blaine grinned, and Kurt shot him a thankful look, feeling a rush of gratitude that he didn't mention Azimio's shove.

Tina raised an eyebrow at him, which Kurt ignored in favour of viciously attacking his salad with his fork, while Blaine glanced between Mercedes and Tina, and Kurt, who was on the receiving end of some rather threatening 'we will talk about this later' looks.

"Um… anyway, what do you guys know about the glee club here?" Blaine asked, breaking the awkward silence. Kurt continued to glare at his plate as everyone else's attention immediately snaps back to Blaine at the mention of glee.

"We're all in it. Do you like singing?" Sam asked excitedly, gesturing. Blaine's face broke into the most brilliant smile Kurt had seen so far - which is _really_ saying something - and he nodded eagerly.

"Yeah! I love singing. I was in the glee club at my old school, and it was awesome. We were like, rock stars or something," Blaine answered with enthusiasm, and Kurt could see answering smiles blossoming on the others' faces; Blaine's happiness was contagious.

"Well, you could come after school today to try out?" Mike asked, grinning, and the others agree while Blaine nodded with fervour. Kurt waited for it.

"Kurt, you should come too," bang on time, Mercedes turned to him pointedly as he sighed again, shoving the remains of his salad away and deciding to just go hungry.

"No. We've been through this, Mercedes. The answer is and always will be no." He answered, glaring in response to her reproachful look.

"Come on, Kurt, you'll enjoy it! And I've heard you humming the Sound of Music to yourself, I _know_ you can sing," she said, with Sam, Mike and Tina nodding like bobble head toys behind her as they gazed pleadingly at him.

"No. I don't sing, Mercedes. End of." He said dangerously, standing and heaving his bag onto his shoulder. They looked disappointed, but they didn't push it. They knew not to. And while Blaine seemed gentlemanly enough to realise that it was a sensitive topic, he heard him asking about it as he left, feeling a slight sting of betrayal as they hurried to explain Kurt's aversion to joining glee to Blaine.

But they don't know the real reason. He had never told anyone why he didn't sing, why he _hadn't_ sung with anybody but his mother for eight years.

Because Kurt Eleryn has many secrets. One of which was that he _loves_ singing. Another of which was that he really wanted to join glee club.

And the most recent of which was that he also really, _really_ wanted to hear Blaine sing.

Kurt was really not sure what he was doing. Well, he knew he was walking down the hall, very slowly, because it was the end of school and he got to go home. Yay.

But he also knew that his feet were taking him in the direction of the choir room, in the direction of Blaine's faint laughter, which was echoing in his ears. He scowled to himself as he stopped by the door, staying hidden from view as he scuffed the floor with a booted foot.

He really shouldn't have been here. He can't be late home, which was exactly what was going to happen if he stayed any longer. He knew that, and he knew what would happen in painful detail if he _was _late, and yet he couldn't tear himself away. He could hear Blaine, right there on the other side of the wall, introducing himself, hear that stupid teacher prattling some nonsense of welcome, and he knew that soon Blaine is going to open that beautiful mouth of his and _sing_.

He only had so much self-control. He loved music; he loved Blaine's speaking voice. He was not about to give up the chance to hear a combination of both. Steeling himself already for what will happen when he gets home and desperately hoping that even though it was a week day _he'll_ be out, he leant against the wall by the door, waiting.

"So, whenever you're ready, Blaine." That was the teacher, Mr Schue…ster? Everyone seemed to call him Mr Schue, and Kurt had no idea what his full name was. He didn't really care either, because at that moment the music started and Blaine started singing.

"_You think I'm pretty, without any make-up on,_

_You think I'm funny, when I tell the punch line wrong_

_I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down._"

Holy fuck. That was unfair. _Seriously_ unfair. This boy was too damn perfect for his own good.

"_Before you met me, I was alright but_

_Things were kind of heavy, brought me to life_

_Now every February, you'll be my valentine, valentine._"

Kurt was frozen in place, listening to the words as they fell from Blaine's lips with unbearable perfection and sweetness; just the right hint of sexiness for the song mixed in there too.

"_Let's go all, the way tonight_

_No regrets, just love_

_We can dance, until we die_

_You and I, will be young forever!_"

Kurt knew it was risky, but he couldn't resist tilting his head around the door so he could see and instantly he knew that he was not the only one thinking that Blaine was brilliant; his own amazement reflected back at him on every watching face. Because Blaine_ was_ brilliant, his whole being lit up and thrumming with simple pure joy as he revelled in the simple act of song and dance.

"_My heart stops, when you look at me, just one touch_

_Now baby, I believe, this is real_

_So take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back!_"

Kurt was mesmerised, and he suddenly felt the need to open his mouth and sing himself; the sheer happiness that filled Blaine's face as he sang almost convincing Kurt to sing. Almost.

"_My heart stops, when you look at me, just one touch_

_Now baby, I believe, this is real_

_So take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back!_"

It hadn't escaped Kurt's notice that while Blaine's voice was impossibly beautiful, much more so than his own, he could all too easily imagine a duet between the two of them. And it would sound fantastic. His eyes roamed around the room as Blaine finishes, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming urge to join in - even if it was Katy Perry.

His eyes fell on the clock, widening at the time. He was already half an hour late, and it would take him a good twenty minutes to get home. He was screwed. Utterly screwed.

He let out a soft swear, and turned to leave hurriedly, catching his toe on the cheap lino of the floor.

"Kurt?" He froze.

"Kurt?" Blaine was still trying to catch his breath, the exhilaration that always comes from performing still rushing through his veins and making it hard to do anything but smile, but his ears pricked at the mention of that name.

He pivoted on one foot, spinning to follow everyone else's gazes, audition and performance instantly forgotten when he sees Kurt standing in the door way, rigid.

"Kurt?" he repeated, curious but suddenly overwhelmingly pleased, embarrassed and worried that Kurt probably heard at least some of his performance. Kurt glanced back over his shoulder, eyes wide and stricken. He met Blaine's gaze for a brief moment, something unreadable flickering in those blue depths before the taller boy turned on his very stylish heel and fled, leaving the rest of the glee club, Blaine included, half reaching after him.

"Well, damn." Blaine turned to Puck in surprise as the guy slumped back in his seat, wearing an irritated look that is reflected back in varying degrees across all of the other member's faces, including Mr Schue's.

"Don't give up, everybody! He seems to be showing an interest now, so we should work out a plan -"

"We asked him again today at lunch, he said no again and stormed off." Mercedes interrupted Rachel, who stammers to a halt, looking thoughtful.

"So why did he turn up here?" Tina wondered curiously, remembering just how angry and closed off Kurt's face had become at the mention of singing, just like Blaine was.

"Maybe 'cause of Blaine?" Sam suggested, and everybody turns to stare at him, Blaine feeling a flush creep up his neck as almost instantly everyone's eyes flicker back to him.

Rachel approached him, wearing a frankly alarming expression on her face that reminded Blaine of some kind of small, predatory cat far too much for comfort. He backed up, and then she pounced.

"So! He likes you! I bet he does! This is excellent, not only do I now have someone who can actually come close to matching my standard for duets, we have bait!" Rachel exclaimed, Blaine gulping and trying to ignore Puck's fruitless attempts to suppress laughter at his expression.

"Um… bait?" He has known the small whirlwind known as Rachel Berry for all of five minutes, and she has managed to both befriend him and terrify him in equal amounts. She nodded furiously.

"Yes! We've been trying all year to get Kurt to join, he would be a wonderful addition to my backup vocals-" She began to explain, before Mercedes interrupted her again.

Interrupting seemed to be the main way of trying to carry on a conversation with Rachel.

"He's got a brilliant voice, and I've seen his iPod playlists. Full of musicals. He would really enjoy this, I know he would, but he's so…"

"Stubborn?" Sam supplied for her, and the club sighed. Blaine frowned in confusion as he processed their words.

"Wait, how do you know that he can sing?" He asked curiously; from the sound of it Kurt didn't like the mention of singing, and he didn't think overhearing him humming a few lines of the Sound of Music like Mercedes had said was really enough of an indication of how well someone sang.

Artie suddenly spoke, the awe struck expression on his face very clear.

"He sings in the shower. For some reason he was using the school showers when we got back from football practice late one time, and he was singing and… wow. I didn't know a guy could sing that high." Artie shook his head, awe melding with disbelief at the memory.

"So he's a countertenor?" Blaine asked, brow furrowing. Given how naturally high and lyrical Kurt's speaking voice is, it made sense. He suddenly desperately wanted to hear Kurt sing. Ever since he had seen Kurt when the boy had been shoved across his vision by a jock, Blaine had been completely enraptured by him. The way his features were still so delicately beautiful even when screwed up into a grimace of pain, the way his eyes were defiant even through that pain… his eyes were the most startling colour Blaine had ever seen; blue and green and gold and grey, ever shifting in an endless kaleidoscope.

And while he knew it was probably ridiculous, he could not help the way his heart is still leaping at the thought of Kurt liking him.

"We think so. And we really need new members, so he would be perfect! And you, Blaine, are going to help us get him!" Rachel took control of the conversation again, still grinning at Blaine as he blinked back to reality.

This was proving to be both a very intriguing and stressful first day.

Kurt ran. He didn't know why, but he ran and he didn't stop until he reached his Navigator with no inkling of how he actually got there.

He wrenched the door open, his mind in complete turmoil all the way home despite his frantic efforts to calm himself down, intellectually aware that he was not only overreacting but also completely freaking out but unable to prevent it.

Because when they called out his name, when he met Blaine's eyes, he very nearly crumbled. The urge to turn, smile, ask if he could join, compliment Blaine on his singing, wow everyone as he knew he could with his own voice, ask to sing a duet… all those thoughts, those images had flashed through his brain in a second and he had very nearly given in.

It had been all he could do to tear his eyes away, sure that if he had stared any longer into those pools of golden hazel he would have most definitely caved.

And that could not happen. That could _never_ happen. His walls, the one's he had built up around himself, are vital. He couldn't live without them, couldn't let anybody tear them down, couldn't let anybody past them no matter how much he might want it.

Kurt was terrified. So, so, so, fucking _terrified_ of how quickly Blaine has gotten under his skin already. He didn't know what would happen if he let Blaine closer. He only knew that that was not allowed.

With a note of surprise, Kurt noticed that he had reached his house and neatly parked his car outside, which looks thin and cold and _angry_ as he stared at it, against the backdrop of the steadily darkening sky.

He glanced at the dashboard and could not help but let out a little groan as he realised that he was nearly an entire hour late. Steeling himself, he slowly exited his car, pulling his bag from the seat and shifting it on his less injured shoulder, walking up to his door and locking the car with mechanic movements as he locked himself away, wary and yet expectant as he opened the door.

Slowly, he walked through the hall to the kitchen, the stairs and promise of safety no more than three feet away when his booted foot clinked against a bottle, the noise echoing painfully loud into the silence.

He looked down; dread curling around his heart as he retreated even further down the hallway, watching as if from the end of an impossibly long tunnel.

An empty bottle.

He looked up, cast his eyes about as he lowered his bag to the floor, turning as he searched.

He caught a movement from the corner of his eye, and turned instinctively towards it.

And that was when the fist slammed into his gut.


	4. Chapter 3

**Heya! So warning: this chapter is pretty... angsty. And weepy. So, you have been warned. Physical violence and crying, guys. **

**There's also some French, which we all have to praise loulouclochette from tumblr for writing for us, because seriously; before it was not nice. I'm not sure if it even counted as French. :) So thanks SO MUCH to her, and as always to my beta! XD **

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THREE<p>

For a moment Kurt couldn't breathe, couldn't think past anything other than the sudden, wracking pain radiating from his gut.

He vaguely felt the fist draw back as he gasped, doubling over, struggling to get his lungs to work past the shock and pain to get oxygen into his system, before the fist crashed back again.

This time the impact sent him back, reeling, as he tried to collect his thoughts. He saw the other fist coming towards him, and suddenly the world snapped into painful clarity, with no time for thinking, or speaking, just simple, pure movement.

He ducked, slipped to the side, and the man stumbled, the scent of liquor heavy on his breath as he whirled around, trying to locate Kurt with bloodshot eyes. Kurt was tense, his whole body thrumming with energy, the pain of the hits he has already taken momentarily pushed aside.

"You…" The man squinted, and Kurt felt his muscles clenching in anticipation. The man frowned, finally seeming to see him. "Where have you been, you little shit?" He exploded, and dove for him again.

"School." He answered, even if it's futile, and understanding dawnes in the man's eyes as Kurt caught his wavering arm with two hands, feeling his feet slip backwards slightly as his arms shook with the effort of holding back his drunken force.

"School?" The man slurred, frowning, before fury descended like a cloud in his eyes. "Don't lie to me! You're late! I bet you were out fucking all your little faggot friends!" The shouts exploded, fists and flying limbs accompanying each and every syllable as Kurt ducked and wove, being driven back into the kitchen and skirting around the island counter.

"There was traffic!" He cried, but now the man is beyond reason. He grabbed a glass and threw it, and Kurt felt it shatter against the wall right next to his head, but there was no time, no _time_ to react or think or feel or scream it was just move move move _move_

He was never sure how it happens. It has happened so many times, so, so many times, and he could never figure out how he ended up in these positions, blows raining down. One minute he'd be on his feet, defending himself as much as he could, and then he'd be in his room, back pressed against the door while he pounded upon the thin wood. Or he'd be curled up on the stairs, sometimes at the top, sometimes at the bottom, with tears leaking from his eyes as a foot connected with his body over and over again.

Or like now, he'd find himself against the wall, sliding down it only for another kick or slap or punch to push him up it again, one hand bracing itself against the door as he struggled to protect his face and all he could do was take it and take it and take it and pray that it would stop before he died.

"Don't you ever, ever lie to me again! You go to school, you come home and that's it, alright? _That. Is. It!"_ The screams seemed to echo in his ears, and he nodded frantically, sobbing now and hating himself for it but it _hurt_ and all he could do was nod and agree and cry and _please let it stop soon please please please_.

His vision was darkening at the edges before his father finally backed off, his fist connecting with the wall as Kurt finally collapsed. This seemed to momentarily stump him for a while, and he stared uncomprehendingly at the yellow paint before glaring at Kurt's shaking, tiny, curled up form for a minute before stumbling off, muttering combinations of threats and pleas for more alcohol.

For several long minutes all Kurt could do was breathe. Slowly, he sat up, wincing as his body immediately thrummed with agony, insistently letting him know that it was injured, and it took several dizzy, throbbing moments before Kurt shakily breathed out again.

He could hear the flickering noise of the TV as he got to his feet, achingly slowly, and he caught a glimpse of the back of his father's head as he began to creep up the stairs as quietly as he could.

Kurt's legs gave out once more as soon as he had reached his bedroom, and for a while he just sat there, back against the door, his fingers spidering around on the desk next to him until they found the familiar box, the one that brings sweet relief to the pain.

He leant his head back, the shrieking, twisting, hurtful knife-like pain fading to dull, pulsing aches.

He cried.

And he remembered exactly why he couldn't join Glee. Why he couldn't let Mercedes, or Tina, or Sam, or Mike or even Rachel in.

Why Blaine couldn't get close.

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't know how long he'd been asleep when he suddenly jerked awake, head lifting from the wood of his still closed bedroom door.<p>

Instantly, his body protested, and he clenched his teeth, tears stinging in his eyes as air whistled between his lips in a hiss of pain. He stilled for a moment, grimacing as he reached for the box of ibuprofen that was still lying by his side on the thinning blue carpet.

He had no idea whether enough time has passed to take another dose, but he really didn't care with pain slamming through his body afresh with every beat of his heart. When he opened his mouth to slip the pills in, swallowing them dry with practised ease, he felt that uniquely odd stiffness on his cheeks from dried tears.

He sat as still as he could, trying to ignore the ache he was getting from breathing, waiting for the medication to dull the pain back into bearable territory. He let out a long breath when he felt it beginning to fade slightly, and with a small grunt he clambered ungracefully to his feet.

He was shaking and breathing hard by the time he got to his en suite bathroom, but he got there, and it felt like a small victory. He stripped, purposely ignoring the mirror that spanned the space above the sink, pretending obliviousness to himself about the pain.

It hadn't been this bad for a while. It hadn't exactly gotten _better_, but it hadn't been this bad. The last time this had happened was last year, when a slushie from Karofsky at the end of the day had taken longer than anticipated to wash out, causing him to be late.

Kurt didn't understand his father. He didn't understand what he did wrong, or why Kurt makes him so angry. He didn't understand why his father hates him. He didn't understand how he drinks so much he can barely stand.

He didn't understand how the man who used to be half of Kurt's entire world could change so much after the other half died. It was hard. It has been eight years, but thinking about his mother still hurt sometimes.

But he didn't understand how Elizabeth's death could turn the man he used to love so much into a complete stranger.

And most of all he didn't understand how he can make it better.

With another sigh, he finally raised his eyes to the mirror, wincing at the sight of the crusted blood on his lower neck and right collarbone. He let his eyes trace the layers of bruises along his abdomen, the fresh, ugly reddish ones that discolour his stomach standing out prominently over the others, which were of varying degrees of age and were displaying an impressive range of colours.

His left shoulder was still slightly bigger than the other one, flushed an unhealthy red from being shoved into a doorframe last week. There was a particularly oddly shaped bruise on his right shoulder, which he couldn't remember getting. Underneath the bandage around his arm was a jagged, half-healed cut from when he wasn't quite quick enough to avoid a shattered beer bottle.

His face was thankfully mostly clear; the only signs being the dark shadows under his eyes and the blotchy quality of his skin from crying so much earlier. He continued to survey the damage as he reached for his moisturising products. His dedication to his skincare regimen came from several things.

For one thing, he did enjoy having beautiful skin that he knew more than one of the Cheerio's envied. For another, his mother always used to tell him how important to take care of himself, and he held on to anything he could remember of her.

And lastly, if his face was put together, people didn't tend to look closer. Except for certain people like Rachel, but then she was insane. And she only wanted him because he'd look pretty swaying in the background behind her, not because she particularly cares.

He was not thinking about the other exception.

It took him over an hour to get through the shower, first aid and skin care that he needed, but finally he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in soft, silken pyjamas, bare feet padding softly over the floor.

He surveyed his room for a moment, lingering on the crisply made bed, but he couldn't stay there. A glance at the clock told him it was 11pm, so he was probably safe.

Very, very quietly he shuffled out of the door, his legs in surprisingly good shape compared to the rest of him, and softly made his way along the corridor of their two-storey house and into his parent's bedroom.

His mother's bedroom. He knew for a fact that his father hasn't set foot in here since the time long ago when he had to retrieve his clothes and pack away Elizabeth's things, not allowing his son to keep even the smallest memento of his mother.

But one advantage of him being drunk most of the time was the opportunities for exploration it gave Kurt.

Mostly in the early hours of the morning, he would creep around the house, searching with terrified nine-year old eyes. He knew that his father hadn't thrown them out, the boxes. He knew they were still hidden in his house somewhere.

It had taken a year to find the loft, and another three months after that until he worked out how to get up there, but now Kurt pulled down the ladder with practised ease, hauling himself up and pulling the ladder after him, sealing himself inside.

This was his haven. This was his safe place, the only safe place. There was one window, but at this time of night it didn't provide any light. It wasn't a problem though, because Elizabeth's tasselled, floral print lamp was up there.

He switched it on, and a warm, rosy golden light filled the area. It was small, it was cramped, but it was clean thanks to him, arranged cosily, and it smelt of her.

He perched his battered body down on her ottoman, sighing softly as it sent a cloud of her perfume wafting around him. She used to experiment with perfume, so sometimes she smelt _very_ strange, but this smell, this fresh, clean, cookies-and-flowers-and-sunshine smell, that smell was always there, under whatever cloud of scent she had decided to immerse herself in that day.

It was her smell. It was the smell of home, of comfort.

He closed his eyes, breathing in, and he didn't try to stop his tears despite the fact that he'd probably have to spend another half an hour when he got downstairs cleaning it up again.

"Bonsoir, Maman. Père était encore fâché aujourd'hui. Je ne comprends pas ce que j'ai fait pour le mettre autant en colère, mais j'essaye. Je te jure que j'essaye, Maman."He always speaks to her in French. She taught him the rudimentary basics of the language, and it's another piece of her, another piece that nobody will ever, _ever_ be able to take away from him. She always said that she loved the language, that is was more beautiful than English because it sounded like a song.

(_Good evening, mama. Father was angry again today. I still don't understand what I did to make him so angry, but I'm trying. I promise I am, mama._)

"J'ai rencontré quelqu'un aujourd'hui. C'est un nouvel étudiant à l'école. Son nom est Blaine, et il est plus petit que moi, avec les cheveux noirs. Je pense qu'ils sont frisés, ses cheveux, mais je ne suis pas sûr parce qu'il met beaucoup trop de gel. Je crois que tu l'aimerais bien, Maman, malgré le gel."

(_I met someone today. He's a new student at school. His name's Blaine, and he's shorter than I am, with black hair. I think it's curly, but I'm not sure because he gels it so much. You would like him, I think, mama, despite the gel.)_

"Il a des yeux magnifiques, et un très beau sourire. Je l'aime beaucoup, mais… je sais que je dois le repousser, Maman, mais je crois que ça lui ferait mal, et je ne veux pas ça. Ça me fait mal à moi aussi." He closed his eyes again; breathing in her scent deeply as if he could somehow contain it, keep it inside him forever.

(_He has beautiful eyes, and the biggest smile. I really like him, but… you know. I know that I have to keep him away, mama, but I think it would hurt him, and I don't want to do that. It would hurt me too.)_

"Tu me manques." The words left his lips as they always did, before he could stop them, because they were the truest words he could think to say to her. He glanced at the antique clock on the dresser, which was perfectly in synch despite its age. Kurt wasn't sure who it belonged to, but he thought it may have been from his grandmother.

(_I miss you.)_

It was nearly midnight, and he should really get to sleep, give his body at least a vague chance to recuperate. He could still feel the aches, but it seemed unimportant, as it always did, when he was there, so close to his mother. He stood, flicked off the light, and wiped his eyes.

"Je t'aime, maman. Bonne nuit."

(_Love you, mama. Good night.)_

* * *

><p><strong>So, here it is, Chapter 3, and I think I can honestly say I haven't updated something this fast in like... ever.<strong>

**But anyway, I didn't have a chance last chapter to say THANK YOU SO FREAKING MUCH**** to everyone who read and reviewed, and special thanks to my beta's friends - I know you guys only read cause she asked you to, so the fact that you liked it makes me really happy!**

**Thanks again to loulouclochette for literally SAVING the French from the depths of despair and horrible things (seriously; google translate. Not pretty.) and my amazingly fantastic slightly insane beta! :) Kisses for both of you guys! XD**

**I hope everybody enjoyed it, despite the weepiness, and please review! XD**


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Blaine would not call himself observant. He was not very good at reading people, at noticing subtle messages, at figuring out what they're thinking. Playing to an audience, he could do. But working out why Kurt was avoiding him like the bubonic plague? Not so much.

Because he was pretty that was what sure Kurt was doing. The day after he eavesdropped on Blaine's performance of 'Teenage Dream' (which, after the initial 'Kurt-must-join-glee-ASAP', or KMJGASAP, discussion, had been met with an uproar of approval and enthusiastic admission to the New Directions), Kurt had looked so exhausted that Blaine had been both concerned by it and amazed that the boy was even upright, but every time he had tried to get close, every time he tried to ask if he was alright, Kurt had proved impossible to get hold of, slipping through his fingers again and again.

He'd suspected, but now, as he stood in the library in between the shelves watching Kurt's retreating back and flapping scarf as the boy briskly walked away, he was certain. Kurt was avoiding him. And he didn't even know why.

He'd been analyzing their conversations, every little move and gesture, with far too much intensity to be healthy, replaying them in his head and trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. Because there was something about Kurt, something different, something that drew him in like nobody and nothing else.

But it has been a week, and now Blaine just figured that Kurt simply doesn't like him. Which hurt, way more than it should have from barely ten minutes of conversation. But even if it hurt, Blaine could take a hint. Once he got it, which could sometimes take a while, he could take a hint.

So he stopped following Kurt around. He stopped trying to ask him if he was okay. He stopped. But he still smiled at him when he saw him, said hello. Blaine couldn't drop years of being polite that quickly.

But Kurt never replied. He doesn't say one word back, until the day he walked into the choir room to find a dangerously pissed off Kurt sitting tied to a chair with one of Tina's scarves.

* * *

><p>To say that Kurt was angry would be an understatement.<p>

He was _livid_.

When Rachel approached him at his locker earlier that afternoon, he had been expecting an interrogation. He most definitely had _not_ been expecting her to be the distraction while Santana and Brittany came up behind him and grabbed him, and _holy shit,_ _who knew Cheerios were that strong?_

The next thing he knew, he was being tied to a chair with one of Tina's scarves, and now he was sitting here in the choir room, legs neatly crossed at the knee, not even trying to hide his fury and discretely flicking little glances over to the clock as it inched closer and closer to making him late.

The fact that the poor scarf tying him to the chair was a very nice black and purple one was not helping things.

When Blaine walked in, Kurt knew instantly that he had had nothing to do with this scheme; he looked just as shocked as Mr Schue (Kurt should probably find out his full name at some point) did when he followed Blaine in seconds later. Kurt couldn't help but feel slightly gratified that Blaine didn't help kidnap him.

"… Kurt? Why are you here?" Mr Schue asked, shooting Rachel a questioning glance. Blaine met Kurt's eyes for a brief second, before blushing and hurrying to his seat, beautiful hazel fixed on the floor.

"Oh, you know, I thought I'd just drop by and _tie myself to this chair_. As you do." Kurt answered with such biting sarcasm that Mr Schue winced, glancing worriedly at Rachel again.

"Kurt Eleryn. We have brought you here today to-"

"-Interrogate me about why I was here last week and ask me to join Glee club. Again." He finished for her, fixing Rachel with a cold stare, feeling a flash of satisfaction when she looked thrown, while Blaine smirked a little into his hand out of the corner of his eye.

"Well? Why _were _you here last week? It was to listen to Blaine, wasn't it?" Rachel demanded, eyes gleaming. Kurt sighed, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably, the swelling not taking kindly to being tied behind his back.

"I was curious, now the curiosity has been sated, and _no_, I won't join Glee. Can I go now?" He asked, trying not to sound too frantic as the clock's hands edge around the face.

* * *

><p>Blaine caught Kurt's panicked look at the clock, and crinkled his brow at the sight, before he was suddenly dragged back into the conversation as Rachel asked for what must be the tenth time if Kurt would just join Glee club already.<p>

"No."

"Why not?" Rachel exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. At a desperate look from her, Finn got up and tried to appeal to Kurt.

"Come on Kurt, it's fun, really, you'd enjoy it."

"No."

"Kurt. Seriously, we _need_ you!" Mercedes pleaded.

"No."

"She's right, we do need you. I need someone to help me explain why coupling three-quarter black leggings with trainers and a dress is just…" Tina trailed off.

"Wrong? No." Kurt raised an eyebrow at Tina's mention of the girls' costume suggestion, but other than that he appeared almost bored as all of the Glee members tried and failed in astonishingly quick succession to persuade Kurt to join Glee.

"Kurt, we're going to do Wicked again soon, don't you like musicals?"

"No."

"Kurt, if it's dancing you're worried about, I can show you, and really, don't worry about it; Finn can't dance at all!"

"Hey!" Finn looked affronted.

"No."

"Do you honestly have anything better to do?"

"No."

"So you'll-"

"No."

"Jesus, Kurt, please?"

"No."

"Kurt, I think it would be good for you, and it would be a good extracurricular activity for credits." Mr Schue tried.

"No." Mr Schue failed.

"You would look good on a stage!"

"No."

"Kurt, your voice is stunning. Like, really, really, _really_, stunning!"

"No. I'll spare you the mortification of trying to explain exactly when you heard me sing, seeing as I only sing in the shower or at my mother's gravestone."

A shocked silence met this seemingly flippant statement, but Blaine was sure that he could see a sort of hollow emptiness in the boy's eyes that definitely wasn't there before. When Kurt blinked, his eyes were shielded again, and Blaine wasn't 100% sure he didn't imagine it.

"Why?" Blaine asked softly, unsure if Kurt even heard him until he suddenly found himself staring into his eyes.

"Why what?" Kurt replied, and Blaine vaguely heard a rustling of restlessness from the rest of the club; those were the first words Kurt had said that hint at conversation rather than flat-out denial.

"Why don't you want to join? You just keep saying no, but you won't say why." Kurt tilted his head unconsciously to one side, his eyes locked on Blaine's. Blaine swallowed, but didn't look away from their piercing gaze.

"I don't want to join because I don't want to sing." Kurt answered quietly, and Blaine could tell the answer was for Blaine alone. He got up and moved closer, standing by his chair and looking, for once, down at him.

"Why not?"

"Because the last time I sang… it hurt." He whispered, barely audible to Blaine and unheard by the rest of the club, and finally Kurt's eyes dropped. It was as if a spell has been broken, and Blaine could tell instantly that the conversation was most definitely over.

Tina's scarf looked very flimsy when Kurt looked up, Blaine barely catching the movement of his eyes as they flickered briefly over to the clock again.

"Now, are you going to let me go? Tina, this is a very nice scarf, but I am not above breaking it." Tina's eyebrows scrunched together as Mike, well aware of how that would upset his girlfriend, hastened to untie it, ignoring Rachel's babble as she moved to stop him but was frozen in place by the glare Kurt gave her.

Kurt got up, dusted himself off daintily and picked up his bag. An odd expression crossed his face as he lifted it onto his left shoulder, before he quickly moved it to his right.

"Well, this has been nice." Kurt sniffed, turned on his heel and marched out, everyone turning to stare after him and still slightly shell-shocked as Mike silently handed Tina back her scarf.

She looked down at it in puzzlement.

"How did he know it was mine?" She murmured, and Blaine answered without even thinking.

"Because it doesn't match anybody else's outfits." He said, still staring at the doorway. He turned back to find his new fellow club members staring at him. "What?" He asked, self conscious and very aware of the jealous look that Mercedes was giving him.

"Huh. So you are gay." Puck said, and Blaine couldn't help but laugh.

"Totally, 100% gay." He agreed, ignoring her as Rachel excitedly announced that Kurt was too. He knew Kurt was gay. But he only knew that because he was being bullied, which was a horrible way to find out. He wondered if anybody else knew about the extent of the bullying.

At lunch the next day, he asked Mercedes, who seemed marginally closer to Kurt than the others (marginally), and she said that Kurt was harassed a little by some of the jocks, like they all were for being in glee club. He was almost shaking with fury when he realised that they didn't _see _it. And about five minutes into their group whining session about how awful life was for _them_, he rather uncharacteristically stormed off, muttering a pathetic excuse about homework.

They had been too wrapped up in complaining to really notice Blaine's fury, and that just pissed him off even more as he stalked down the corridors. He didn't get very angry often; he was a people person, he generally liked to make people smile and now he had more control he'd realised that life was much easier if he smiled back.

But Kurt was proving to be screwing him up in several ways, because he felt a rush of protectiveness towards him, which only increased when he actually ran into him outside the library.

Kurt looked surprised, and Blaine caught another flicker of a squashed expression, but this time he didn't run away, which Blaine took as progress. Maybe he hadn't been the only one who felt like he could stare into Kurt's eyes forever during that small conversation the other day.

After several moments of Blaine just staring at him, panting slightly from his angry strides, Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Rachel start talking again?" He asked flippantly, but there's a shade of concern in his eyes, and all at once Blaine felt better. He laughed, feeling the tension run out of his shoulders.

"Something like that." He agreed. Kurt eyed him, opened his mouth as if he was going to ask something, before abruptly closing it and looking down, fidgeting with his bag strap.

"So, how are you?" Blaine asked, clearing his throat awkwardly. Kurt's eyes flickered up to him briefly, something like disbelief flaring in them, before they darted away again.

"Fine." Blaine frowned, but didn't call him on it.

"Why doesn't anyone else see it?" He blurted out, immediately regretting the words as soon as they're out as Kurt's eyes widened, suddenly seeming more grey than blue, and he reached out an arm as if to grab him again, wishing he would just _think_ before he opened his mouth!

But Kurt didn't flee. He looked shocked, but he didn't run, and Blaine felt the vague stirrings of hope in his chest.

"See what?" Kurt asked quietly, a sense of dread echoing about his voice, which makes Blaine think that Kurt knew _exactly_ what he was talking about.

"The bullying." He answered equally softly, and Kurt blinked. A bitter smile quirked at the corner of his mouth in an almost exact replica of the one he was wearing when Blaine first met him.

"Of course they don't see it. They see what they want to see." Kurt answered, shifting his weight on his feet, and Blaine was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were standing in the middle of a school corridor.

"Kurt… I-I know that it's hard in a public school, to get people to notice… but, please, surely if you told someone? Mr Schue, or even Coach Sylvester, or your dad?"

It was as if a heavy casing of ice had clamped shut around him. Kurt had been looking slightly sad, but still listening, when suddenly his walls slammed up, thicker and more impenetrable than ever, at the mention of his father.

"No, wait, Kurt!" Kurt turned on his heel, and began to stride away with his damn long legs, and Blaine had to break into a trot to keep up with him.

"Kurt, please!"

"Just, leave it, Blaine!" Kurt snapped. His voice was so brittle Blaine is surprised it doesn't break.

"Okay! Okay, I'm sorry, just… please, just… stay?" He asked hesitantly, reaching out for Kurt's arm again and forcing him to stop. The icy, almost reflective surfaces of Kurt's eyes bored into his, and he swallowed.

"Please. I won't… I won't bring it up again. I'll leave it. I promise. Just… can I please talk to you?" He asked, hope shining through his voice unintentionally.

"Why would you want to?" And just like that, Blaine's heart broke, and was instantly given in pieces to Kurt, whether he knew it or not.

"Why would I- why _wouldn't_ I want to? You're wonderful, Kurt, and I want to get to know you better." Blaine said, struggling extremely hard to stop his anger that something had happened to make Kurt think he's not worth people's attention from showing on his face. He couldn't wrap his head around it, and the urge to just take Kurt in his arms and keep him there forever, safe, was almost overwhelming as Kurt raised another eyebrow at him.

"Um… because I'm practically a neon 'bully me now, I'm different!' signboard?" Kurt suggested, now actually looking unbearably curious, like he genuinely could not understand _why _Blaine would want to talk to him, and that hurt.

"Yeah, well, so am I. I mean, all of us in Glee are, but it wouldn't matter to me either way." Blaine said simply, and he could _see_ the perplexity in Kurt's eyes.

"Then because associating yourself with me is practically guaranteed to get you at least double the slushies you get because of Glee club?" Kurt tried, looking more curious for Blaine's answer than ever. Blaine shrugged, smiling hesitantly.

"I don't care about that. I just want to spend more time with you, because I think it would be fun, and I think we'd get along well." Kurt stared at him.

"I don't understand." Finally Kurt answered, frustration colouring his tone, and Blaine couldn't help but smile because Kurt being confused was just _adorable_ even if he should never, ever, _ever_ have to be confused by people liking him.

"Then, why don't we give it a shot? Tomorrow, will you eat lunch with me?" Kurt still looked confused, so Blaine expanded.

"We'll eat, we'll talk, we'll see how it goes. That's all." He waited anxiously for his answer, while Kurt bit his lip, chewing on it nervously. Blaine reached out, gently, to comfort or he didn't know what, and then suddenly he can't breathe.

An iron clamp seemed to close down on his windpipe, because he was just reaching out to pat Kurt on the shoulder, friendly, non-threatening and Kurt _flinched_. Blaine froze, swallowing desperately because Kurt was so wonderful and he didn't even know because of these _stupid_ jocks that make him feel worthless to the point of flinching from friendly contact.

If Kurt hadn't been at that moment running away from him, he probably would've been screaming at the sheer unfairness of it all.

As it was, Kurt _was_ running away from him, so he chased.

"Kurt! Seriously, Kurt! WAIT!" He yelled, making full use of his rather good set of lungs and heedless of the odd looks he was getting. Finally, Kurt stopped suddenly, turning on his heel and hissing at him.

"Will you stop it? Stop it. Just… you don't have to pretend to want to get to know me. That's fine. You're allowed to be horrified and show it, don't hold back, nobody else does! Just… just leave me alone!" Kurt turned, and that time Blaine properly grabbed him again.

"Kurt! God, Kurt, would you please calm down for a second? I am not horrified by you, or disgusted, or scared. You're human, aren't you?" He asked, giving a half-hearted chuckle at his lame attempt at a joke. "Please. I… I guess I was horrified, but _not because of you_, Kurt. Because of… because of everyone else. Because of the way they treat you. It's so unfair, and that's why I'm angry. Not at you, Kurt." Blaine explained, his words tripping over themselves in his urgency to try and make Kurt understand, even if only by a little. _Never at you._ He added silently.

Kurt regarded him for a moment, before apparently coming to a decision.

"I'll… I'll think about lunch." Kurt answered quietly, with a brief nod, and Blaine broke into another smile, squeezing Kurt's shoulders. Kurt winced the tiniest amount at the touch, as if in pain, but smiled broadly at him the next moment, before leaving an extremely confused Blaine behind before he could ask about it.

* * *

><p>Kurt, once again, didn't know what he was doing.<p>

_What are you _doing_?_ He asked himself. It was a very good question. And he had _no idea_ what he was doing. He had just agreed to hang out with Blaine Anderson. This was not a good thing. Because even if it had sent butterflies through his stomach when Blaine had said he wanted to get to know Kurt better, that was absolutely not supposed to have happened.

Because while the idea of being rescued from the hellhole that was his life by Blaine, by _anyone_, was something he only dared dream of late at night, when he was alone in bed, he was terrified. There are people. Kurt knew that. There were people who cared, people who might've just been able to reach down and pull him out.

It was not that which terrified him; he_ knew_ he was not alone, and sometimes just knowing that was enough, but that was not what terrified him.

What terrified him was the fact that he didn't know whether _he_ could survive it. There were people who could ride in and save the day, but would he survive that? Could he survive the aftermath of the explosion?

He didn't know. And that terrified him.

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts, despite the fact they had been swirling around and around in his head all afternoon, that he didn't notice Finn Hudson until he tripped over him.

He gave a small yelp, managing to catch himself on a car door, and spun around, bitch face at the ready, to ask exactly what the hell the footballer thought he was doing lying on the tarmac of the school parking lot, when a voice sounded from in front of him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" He looked up from the ridiculously tall boy on the floor to see a woman of fairly average height with gingery brown hair still apologising at him. Finn scrambled up from the floor, chiming in with his own apology.

"I'm so sorry, dude, I…" Finn trailed off when he saw who it is, looking away quickly; glancing around the parking lot to make sure nobody catches him talking to 'the queer'.

Finn used to be one of _them_; one of the people who shoved him into dumpsters and tossed slushies in his face. Since joining Glee, he hadn't done any of those things, and neither had any of the other members.

That did not mean that Kurt tolerated him in any way.

"Why were you on the floor, Finn?" He asked sweetly, stepping a little closer. Not that much closer; he wasn't even invading his personal space, but he knew it would make Finn uncomfortable.

What? So he couldn't have a little fun and revenge at the same time?

"Uh… the car's… broken down." Finn explained, gesturing at the car and still avoiding Kurt's gaze. Kurt glanced at it, and couldn't hold back a snort.

"Well no wonder, what do you guys _do_ to it!" Kurt exclaimed, slipping his bag off his shoulder and placing it gently on the ground, approaching the dented car with trepidation. He turned to look incredulously back at Finn and the woman (whom he assumed was Finn's mother, not his girlfriend, seeing as last Kurt heard, Finn was dating Rachel. Or Quinn. Whoever it was these days).

"Why is it 'broken down'?" Kurt asked, turning back to the battered car and running a tentative hand along the bonnet.

"Um. It's not starting. Doesn't 'broken down' kind of… cover that?" Finn asked, words that would be ten times harsher coming from anyone else, but coming from Finn, well… he just sounded confused. Kurt shot him a look.

"Yes, well, I can't really do much with 'broken down'. That could mean _anything's_ wrong, and trust me, its appearance is not helping this at all. Do you take it for regular checkups?" Kurt asked, now directing his attention towards Finn's mother in the hopes that she'd be able to tell him something more useful.

"Um, no… I just haven't found any time. Oh, I should have taken it in last week, when it started clunking…" she muttered in distress. "Goodness, where are my manners! I'm Carole, Finn's mom." She extended a hand and Kurt shook it, before taking a step back. He assessed the car with a quick sweeping glance, checked his watch, and gave a decisive nod.

"I can take a look for you, but I can't guarantee I'll be able to do much with no tools. At best I'll be able to temporarily get it running long enough to bring it into a garage, at worst I'll have to call them and ask them to come and tow it." Kurt sighed, while Finn suddenly whipped his head around to look at him so fast that Kurt wondered briefly if he had got whiplash.

"You know cars?" Finn asked, at the same time that Carole exclaimed-

"Oh, would you? That would be wonderful, thank you so much!" and clasped her hands together. Kurt felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards.

"Yes, Finn, I 'know cars'. And of course, I'd be happy to take a look. My uncle is a mechanic, he owns Hummel's Tires & Lube? I can get it looked at properly there, but for now I'll see what I can do."

Kurt smiled at Carole, before grabbing his bag and running to place it in his car, shrugging his jacket off and draping it carefully across the backseat of his navigator. He paused for a second, before pulling his jumper over his head, jogging back to Carole's car in just a white, long-sleeved undershirt and jeans.

He liked working on cars, but he loved his clothes more.

* * *

><p>Blaine wasn't sure he could breathe, and he had to quickly run to his car so he could hide in the relative privacy of it because he did not, he did <em>not<em> just see Kurt Eleryn in just a plain t-shirt clambering out from under a car, with smears of grease on his hands and forearms in a way that really shouldn't have been attractive but was.

Fuck. He leant his head down on the wheel, carefully avoiding setting his horn off, and breathed out shakily.

Kurt was _hurting_ right now. Even if nobody else could see it, Blaine could, which was exactly why he should not be thinking about just how unbearably sexy Kurt's arms were even when mostly covered by material.

Except he was.

And they were.

* * *

><p><strong>Um, so I hope you guys liked this bit! <strong>

**I should have said this last chapter, but I didn't have time so I just want to say now: I realise that child abuse is a very serious issue, which I am very fortunate to have no experience with in any way. This story is merely my portrayal of it, based upon my own angsty creativity, and I am trying my best to handle this subject material with sensitivy. I mean no disrespect or offence by it, but if I do offend somebody accidentally, I would really appreciate it if they could let me know in a review or a PM so I can try and fix it. Thank you!**

**ANd thanks again to my beta, who rather seriously fixed this chapter (sorry!) because I dodn't really consciously remember writing it. ANd I need sleep now, so night, and please review! XD**


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Kurt smirked into his glass of water as he absentmindedly handed Finn a soda, watching his uncle and Carole flirt gently with each other.

"Uh, thanks." Finn's mumbles captured his attention once more, and he glanced up at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You're welcome." He replied, trying not to let the disdain for the boy show in his voice.

"Uh… and thanks, for, um… helping out. With the car, I mean." Finn muttered these words practically to his can rather than Kurt, but he turned to look at him anyway, slightly surprised.

"You're… you're welcome for that too." He answered simply, unsure as to what else he could possibly say to Finn. Finn shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable, before nodding to himself and beginning to walk back over to his mum.

"Wait!" Kurt reached out, managing to control his reaction to the spike of pain that sent up his sides, but he also managed to get Finn's attention by grabbing his arm. Finn jerked away, looking horrified, and Kurt could feel his expression souring. "Oh, for goodness sake, I'm not _infectious_, Finn."

"Uh, yeah, just, then why… um." Kurt rolled his eyes, letting Finn tug himself out of his grip.

"I just don't want you interrupting them just yet. Look." Kurt leant back against the wall, nodding his head towards Burt and Carole. Finn followed his gaze, nonplussed, and Kurt sighed.

"Interrupting?" Finn asked, looking back to Kurt in confusion.

"Look, Finn. Don't they look happy talking to each other? Who knows, maybe there's a… spark." Kurt smiled softly as he watched Carole laugh at something Burt had said.

"A spark?" Finn echoed, looking over to watch Burt and Carole again. Kurt snorted, reaching up to pat Finn on the jock's shoulder (and yeah, maybe a tiny vindictive part of him does it because he knows Finn doesn't like it) as he wondered deeper into the shop.

Three days a week, he was allowed to go and help out Burt with the cars. How his uncle managed to wrangle that deal from his drunken father, Kurt would never know, but he was eternally grateful for it for giving him the chance to not only get out of his house, but also spend time with his uncle.

Of course, Burt Hummel was well aware that Kurt's home life was less than perfect, but Kurt was constantly reminded of the fact that close though Burt was, he still didn't see _it_. Burt was aware of his dead sister's husband's drinking problem, aware that most nights Kurt was taking care of himself, hell, when he was younger Burt had even offered to take Kurt in for a while, but he still didn't see _it_.

Nobody saw _it_.

Now was one of those painful reminders; Burt had seen Carole and Finn off and snuck up on Kurt; clapping a hand down on his shoulder. Kurt yelped, managing to morph his expression into one of shock as he swivelled around.

"Uncle Burt, don't _do_ that to me! Jeez…" He complained, rubbing his shoulder and trying not to cry as Burt laughed.

"Loosen up, kiddo! School getting you down?" Burt asked conversationally, and Kurt smiled. He loved it when Burt felt like talking; sometimes he liked to just spend their time together in silence. Which was fine by Kurt, any time with his uncle was treasured, but still. Sometimes it was nice to have someone ask you how your day is and actually care.

"I guess. Rachel and the others have been bugging me to join Glee again." Kurt replied, picking up a rag and joining Burt as they cleaned the oil from the wheels of a Chevy. A comfortable silence followed, filled only by the slight squeaking noise as they worked. This was the way their conversations normally worked; slow, with no hurry, giving each of them time to think with no pressure to be interesting, or even reply. Kurt loved it. This was what he imagined it must be like to have a father, a _real_ father.

"Kurt… I know you're not ready for it yet."

"It?" Kurt asked, slowing down as he realised the uncomfortable direction this conversation was going.

"The whole… singing thing. I get that. But, you know, you might want to think about it."

"Uncle-"

"I'm not saying you have to join tomorrow, kid. I'm just saying you should think about it, 'cause this Rachel girl is right on one front; you _would_ really enjoy it. Even that Finn enjoys it, and he doesn't seem like the most musical to me." Burt joked, coming around the side of the car to smile down at Kurt fondly.

Kurt stared at him for a while, before cracking a smile of his own.

"So _that's_ what this is about." He replied knowingly, standing so he could look Burt in the eye. His uncle widened his eyes innocently.

"What?" Burt protested as Kurt chuckled, smirking at him.

"You want the opportunity to see Carole again, hmmm?" He asked slyly, watching with glee as his uncle blushed and rubbed the back of his head self-consciously with his hand.

"Well… she's one hell of a woman. And Finn seems like a good kid, even if he did get that cheerleader pregnant last year. But, Kurt, seriously, this is about you. Will you think about it? For me?" Burt asked, placing his hands on Kurt's shoulders, gently. Burt was the only person whom Kurt willingly let near enough to touch him. "And if not for me, then for your mother? She would have wanted it for you, Kurt. She would never have wanted you to stop singing." He dropped his eyes, unable to meet his uncle's soft, gentle gaze, and tentavely, he thought about it.

"I… I'll think about it. I promise, Uncle Burt. But not… not now. Can we not do this now?" He pleaded, cursing his stinging eyes and struggling to keep his emotions in check as Burt squeezed his shoulders in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.

Kurt wasn't sure whether he would find it comforting or not, but as it was, it just hurt.

* * *

><p>He stood staring at his house for a good five minutes before he could work up the courage to go in.<p>

Which was ridiculous, he knew, but he was still trembling slightly when he eventually managed to get his key into the front door and twist.

He shakily took another couple of deep breaths before pushing the door open softly and tiptoeing into the house cautiously, hears pricked for any kind of noise that is not of his own making.

The atmosphere inside today was less… heavy. Less tentative and expectant, but Kurt did not relax in the slightest until he caught sight of the living room; devoid of any human beings. He breathed out a little; if he wasn't in there, chances were he wasn't at home.

It was Thursday night, and often his father went out; having the day off on a Friday means it was, in effect, the beginning of his weekend. How his father managed to keep his job with his state of intoxication would always be a mystery to Kurt, but he had seen it; the way he had of presenting a mostly sober front to people who didn't want to look any closer.

People like his boss, his secretary, his colleagues. People like Burt.

Kurt shook the thought away, striding into his kitchen and surveying the state of chaos it is in with a kind of resigned exasperation. It wasn't as if he expected anything less, but that did in no way mean he actually enjoyed clearing the kitchen of alcohol and bottles and, he noticed with a wince, his blood. His hand spidered up to his scarf, which had been hiding the plasters slapped haphazardly over the cuts on his neck and collarbone quite successfully.

Grimacing a little, he dropped his bag at the foot of the stairs before returning to the kitchen, slipping a pair of vibrant turquoise rubber gloves on and grabbing a cloth and a spray-bottle of disinfectant.

God, he hated this.

He removed the traces of browning red, he cleared the broken glass, pausing only to pick out the shard he knelt on from his knee, he scrubbed at the splatters of beer, spirits and god knew what else, he cleared the bottles into a black rubbish bag, tying off the end and dumping it under the stairs in preparation to remove tomorrow morning.

He fixed himself a salad, and retreated to his room, putting his music on very softly, just in case, and he did his homework.

He picked out an outfit for tomorrow, ensuring that it had all the necessary features to hide his various injuries.

He made his bed a few times.

His father got in at midnight, and that was when Kurt silently tiptoed down the stairs, watching the shadowy figure of his only parent stumble about in the hallway below. He breathed out in relief when he heard that familiar creak as his father settled his weight onto the couch, because he knew that the man would not move for the rest of the night.

He was relieved, that he didn't have to help him to bed, or drag him onto the couch. Relieved that tonight he did not have to properly look his father in the eye.

* * *

><p>It was close to one in the morning when Kurt climbed into the loft, ignoring his protesting torso with a grimace as he sealed himself inside once more.<p>

He didn't usually visit the loft as often as he had been recently, but he just _needed_ to tell someone about this, _needed_ to smell his mother's scent because otherwise he was going to run away, he knew he was, and he didn't want to.

It was possibly the first time in his life when he actually didn't want to run away. He wanted to stay with Blaine.

"Bonsoir Maman. Je sais que ça ne fait pas très longtemps, mais j'avais besoin de te dire quelque chose," He murmured, settling himself on the couch and breathing in her scent once more. He didn't bother with the light, he didn't need it. He never needed it; he knew the layout of this loft like the back of his hand, better even, because he practically lived in here more than anywhere else. Sometimes he switched it on, but sometimes he felt closer to her when it's off. It was easier to pretend that she was there, sitting next to him and smiling into his hair as she hugged him, listening in that quiet way he missed so much.

(_Good evening, mama. I know it hasn't been that long, but I needed to tell you something._)

"Tu te souviens de Blaine, le nouvel étudiant? Tu te souviens, je t'ai parlé de ses cheveux, et de ses yeux, et de son sourire? Il… il dit qu'il veut apprendre à me connaître. Il m'a dit qu'il pensait que j'étais une bonne personne..." He stopped, took a deep breath. He gave a little huff of laughter, breath escaping him as he shook his head.

(_Do you remember Blaine, the new guy? Remember, I told you about his hair, and his eyes and his smile. He... he said he wants to get to know me. He said he thought I was a nice person._)

"Personne ne m'a jamais dit quelque chose comme ça avant, Maman, pas depuis que tu es partie. Même oncle Burt ne dit pas des choses comme ça. Je sais qu'il les pense, mais… c'est différent, venant de quelqu'un qui n'est pas de la famille. Et tu ne devineras jamais, Maman, mais Blaine… il m'a demandé de dîner avec lui." Kurt closed his eyes, barely able to believe the words even as he said them, albeit in another language, aloud.

(_No one has ever said something like that to me before, mama, not since you. Not even Uncle Burt says things like that. I know he thinks them, but... it's different, coming from someone who isn't family. And you'll never guess, mama, but Blaine... he asked me to have lunch with him._)

"Il dit qu'il veut apprendre à me connaître, qu'il me montrerait… me montrerait c'est comment. D'avoir des amis. Et je sais, Maman, je sais que c'est dangereux de le laisser s'approcher. Mais je l'aime vraiment, vraiment beaucoup. Moi aussi je veux apprendre à le connaître. Je suis désolé, Maman, mais… je dois lui parler. Il le faut. J'en ai de besoin, comme jamais je n'ai eu besoin de quelque chose. Je ne comprends vraiment pas pourquoi, mais…" He trailed off, giving another little laugh.

(_He said he wants to get to know me better, that he'd show me... show me what it's like. To have friends. And, I know mama, I _know_ that it's dangerous to let him closer. But, I really, really like him. I really want to get to know him better too. I'm sorry mama, but... I have to talk to him. I have to. I need it like I've never needed anything before. I don't understand it at all, but..._)

"J'en ai de besoin. J'en ai vraiment de besoin, Maman. Peux-tu me pardonner pour ça? J'ai le droit… tu m'as dit, une fois, que tu espérais que j'aurais beaucoup d'amis. Je n'ai pas beaucoup d'amis, Maman. Je n'en ai pas. Je ne suis pas sur que je comprends qu'est-ce que ça veut dire, être ami avec quelqu'un. Mais Blaine a dit qu'il m'apprendrait. Qu'il me montrerait. Et je veux ça." Kurt whispered the words, like an admission of something he shouldn't want, something that's wrong, but still sent a thrill of excitement through his stomach.

(_I need it. I really do need it mama. Can you forgive me for that? I am allowed... you told me, once, that you hoped I would have lots of friends. I don't have lots of friends, mama. I don't. I'm not really sure what it means, to be friends with someone. But Blaine said he'd teach me. That he'd show me. I want that._)

"Je l'aime beaucoup. Bonne nuit, Maman, je t'aime." Kurt smiled a little, and as he stood his fingers softly traced over one of Elizabeth's shawls. She liked shawls. She had rarely actually worn them unless it had been cold and she had wanted to snuggle on the sofa with Kurt in front of the Sound of Music. Once she had wrapped him up in this one, all soft and smelling of her and her perfume; one of her nicer perfumes that smelt like summer.

(_I like him. Goodnight, mama, I love you._)

He left the loft feeling contented, even if nobody had answered him back, even if nobody had answered his questions, because he always felt contented after talking to her. After breathing in her scent.

Always.

Before he went to sleep that night, he murmured those last words to her from the privacy of his bed;

"Je me manque."

(_I miss you._)

* * *

><p>Blaine felt his shoulders slump in disappointment as he scanned the cafeteria, hope dying in his chest. He hadn't seen Kurt other than a brief glimpse of a scarf that he knew nobody but Kurt would wear earlier that morning, and he couldn't see him now.<p>

Glumly, he let Brittany drag him over to the table where Mercedes, Santana, Mike and Tina were already sitting, eating. He was so preoccupied in his thoughts as he sat down that he barely noticed the look he got from Santana when the Latina noticed Brittany's hand on his arm.

He let the chatter of his fellow glee-clubbers wash over him, picking at his food and not really focusing.

Kurt must have decided not to come. Which Blaine didn't blame him for; he could see how scary Kurt had been finding the whole idea. He shouldn't have asked; not at school, not for lunch; he should have offered to take him somewhere private, somewhere for coffee or something. He didn't blame Kurt for chickening out in the slightest; but that didn't help the twang of disappointment in his chest.

His attention was reclaimed from his inner thoughts when his friends fell silent, all staring behind him with varying expressions of shock and surprise on their faces.

"Um..." Blaine whirled around so fast he nearly knocked his drink over; he'd recognise that voice anywhere.

"Kurt!" He exclaimed, as the boy in question shifted uncomfortably, his tray held almost tentavely in his hands.

"Um, I got called back in French, something about tutoring; I only just got out, sorry. I'll just, go, so um... sorry." Kurt babbled, then seemed to almost physically shut himself up as a light blush tinges his cheeks and _damn_, that really wasn't fair to Blaine who already wanted to hug him.

"No, no, it's fine. I was starting to think you weren't coming, so, I'm glad. That you're here, I mean. Here, um... oh." Blaine turned to find a place for Kurt to sit only to realise that the table was full.

Full of his friends staring at him incredulously, before Santana sighed and stood, tugging Brittany along with her by their linked pinkies.

"Come on, Brit, let's go. I'm done anyway; Coach is going to flip her shit if we eat anymore." Brittany smiled and followed her best friend compliantly, while Kurt's blue eyes met Santana's for a split second.

"Um, here, why don't you sit?" Blaine asked hesitantly, and Kurt turned from watching the two cheerleaders leave to meet Blaine's gaze, the incredible intensity in his eyes sending a jolt through Blaine, before he did exactly that; carefully lowered his body onto the seat next to Blaine's.

_Next to Blaine's._

Blaine knew intellectually that he was taking that to heart far too much, but was too ridiculously happy to care.

"Heya, Kurt, how are you?" Tina asked, and Kurt's gaze flickered up to her, a small smile quirking his lips when he noticed Mike's arm wound around her waist.

"Fine, thank you. You?" He replied quietly, and Tina beamed at him in response as she confirmed her well being. Mercedes, in the mean time, had leant over to mutter in Blaine's ear accusingly.

"You got him to agree to eat lunch with you? We normally have to corner him and drag him here! How?" He looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I asked." He replied simply, feeling a frown quirk his face as Mercedes' eyebrows shot up.

"Hey, white boy, how come we badger you for weeks to eat lunch with us without success, and then Blaine here asks you once and you agree straight away?" She asked, and Kurt's eyes widened, another blush crossing his face as he looked down at the table and shoved his food around his plate.

"Hey, Mercedes, lay off. He's here now." Blaine murmured to her, and she settled back down, still frowning unhappily, but Kurt shot him a grateful look.

The grateful look quickly turned to slightly panicked shock as Mike and Tina stood and began to drag a protesting Mercedes away, beaming cheerfully at them as they made their excuses. Blaine stared at them wide-eyed, before it clicked that they were leaving to give him time alone with Kurt, and gratitude rushed through him. They were concerned about Kurt too, in their own way, and yet they were pushing it aside for him.

He made a silent mental note to give Tina, the obvious orchestrator of this plan, a hug later.

"Um..." Kurt coughed, clearing his throat and suddenly became very fixated on his salad once more. Blaine stared at him for a second, before an endearing smile quirked his mouth; he could feel it, but he made no move to stop the affection he already held for this boy; so strange and proud and aloof and yet so, so _vulnerable_ all at the same time, from showing on his face.

"Do you actually like that salad?" Blaine asked conversationally, turning back to his own lunch as he felt Kurt start next to him. For some reason, Kurt had been more jumpy recently; even his fellow glee-clubbers had noticed.

"Um... well. Anything else there is going to go straight to my hips. Plus the grease they fry it in... ugh." Kurt shuddered, relaxing somewhat once it became clear that Blaine wasn't going to interrogate him.

"Straight to your hips? What are you talking about, you have perfect hips." Blaine said, without thinking, glancing at Kurt in horror to find a pleased looking blush spreading across his face. "Though, I see your point about the grease." Blaine continued, ridiculously pleased when Kurt's lips curved further in a smile –_jesus, don't think about his lips!_

"I think the kitchen staff enjoy seeing just how far they can push it." Blaine found himself smiling in return, delighted with how easy the conversation was flowing.

"Maybe they have debates in the mornings before school." He suggested, and Kurt snorted elegantly. _How the _hell_ is it even possible to snort elegantly!_

"I doubt that they've got enough brain cells between them to actually carry on a debate, Blaine." He quipped, while Blaine tried to memorise the glorious way Kurt said his name.

He kind of used to hate his name, which practically screamed 'prep-boy' like nothing else, but he thought he could grow to like it if Kurt kept saying it.

"True. I mean, they find seeing what they can pass off as edible entertaining, so..."

"No, it is entertaining, until you realise that you actually have to eat something from the selection." Kurt countered, his lips quirked into the cutest smile Blaine had ever seen.

"Ah ha, this is where my genius triumphs; I bring my own lunch, meaning that the hilariously pathetic attempt at normal food remains hilarious all day!" Blaine beamed, as Kurt raised an eyebrow at him in an expression that clearly said _you cannot be serious right now, Blaine Anderson_.

Yep, he was definitely liking his name now.

Kurt was discovering that Blaine was rather fun to 'hang out' with. He noticed this when he realised he's smiling, nearly laughing, which he didn't really do. He sobers for a moment as he tried to remember the last time he had laughed, before Blaine distracted him with a banana.

No, seriously. Blaine had a banana in his lunch. Kurt watched with wide eyes as his... his friend? Was Blaine is friend now? He got momentarily side-tracked by this question, before Blaine actually finished peeling the banana and put it in his mouth and _oh, okay. Yeah, no, that's not distracting _at all_. No, really._

He swallowed, crossed his legs, focused on what little was left of his salad and desperately tried to keep his thoughts respectable.

"So," Blaine said around a mouthful of banana, "How are you liking talking to me?" Kurt had to very quickly look away from Blaine's throat as he swallowed his food, his own mouth suddenly very dry.

"Uh, it's... nice. Fun, I guess." Blaine grinned at him, raising his banana to his lips again,_ oh god, does he even realise what that is doing to me? _

"So, friends?" Blaine asked, thankfully finishing his banana and holding out his hand. Kurt stared at it, feeling his brow scrunch in confusion.

"Really?" He asked, uncertain, because why on earth would Blaine say something like that? He met Blaine's eyes, still frowning, and saw a flicker of... pain in those hazel depths before the other boy cleared his expression.

"Of course. I mean, if you want to, that is...?" Blaine trailed off, and Kurt stared at him for nearly a full minute before he felt his face break out into a smile.

"Yeah. Yes, I'd like that." He shook Blaine's hand, his _friend's_ hand, and couldn't stop smiling.

He got odd looks for that, from people who literally did a double take when they saw him looking happy, but he didn't care, because _Blaine is his friend, and they're going to eat lunch again tomorrow. _

_God, I hope he doesn't have another banana. Maybe I shouldn't wear jeans quite as tight as these ones..._

* * *

><p><strong>Right, so that's chapter five. :)<strong>

**By the way, if some of Kurt's actions seem a little bit strange, don't worry, they will be explained. His quirks are all intentional! :D**

**And thank you so, so, so much to everybody who story alerted, reviewed and read, you guys have no idea how much I love you! **

**With special shout outs firstly to Naomi, who started reading this when my beta probably half-forced her too, knowing her, but I'm so glad you're enjoying it honey, your review was so sweet it made my day! XD**

**And also to Gina, who also only read this, this time because _I_ half-forced her to, I'm so sorry for the emotional trauma! It has a happy ending, I promise I shall dry all the tears guys!**

**And as always massive thank you's, flowers and worship for my beta, who has been amazingly brilliant as usual ;)**

**I LOVE YOU ALL **


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

"So are you going to eat lunch with us today?" Kurt jumped, and then quickly froze in anxiety as he tried to control his wince. Slowly, he turned from his locker to find himself staring at a rather scary brigade of Tina, Mike, Mercedes, Sam, Brittany, Santana, Artie, Rachel and even an extremely uncomfortable looking Finn.

"Um... will Blaine be there?" Kurt asked hopefully, trying to squash the sudden overwhelming urge to run. All of them had their arms crossed as Tina sighed.

"I don't know, we haven't seen him yet. Why will you sit with Blaine, but not us?" She asked, sounding hurt, which made his brow scrunch in confusion.

"Because he's my friend..." He trailed off as he noticed all of the aghast, pained stares he was on the receiving end of and gulped slightly as Santana bitch glared him and pulled a trembling Brittany closer to her.

"We're your friends too Kurt," Rachel started, stepping forward and tossing her hair, but Kurt's reaction actually managed to stop her talking, which earned Kurt an impressed look from Santana.

He reeled back, blinking in shock and his mouth half forming words as he tried to process this, barely catching himself in time to stop his back from crashing into the locker behind him.

"You... you're... what?" He mumbled, still blinking rapidly, when Blaine joined them, his grin stretching wider for a moment when he spotted Kurt and instantly dropping when he took in the other boy's stricken expression. Frowning, he stepped closer to Kurt, who was still struggling to get his brain working again, and eyed his friends.

"Guys, what were you doing? Were you bothering him again?" Rachel's eyes widened, but Mercedes cut in gently (it really was the only way to carry on a conversation involving Rachel Berry).

"We were asking him to eat lunch with us, Blaine, but he doesn't see us as his friends, so..." Mercedes shrugged unhappily, but as Blaine glanced back at Kurt's shocked expression, everything fell into place.

"Wait!" He called, and the group turned back to him. He glanced at Kurt again, who was staring at him with a helpless, pleading expression on his face, looking very much out of his depth. "Did you guys ever... say that you were friends?" Blaine asked carefully, unsure of how much the New Directions had realised about Kurt's attitude to friendship.

They look confused, so Blaine sighed inwardly, looking to Kurt in sympathy again.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, exchanging a puzzled look with his girlfriend.

"Did you ever... explicitly say to Kurt 'we're friends'?" He asked, and one by one, they shook their heads. This time Blaine sighed aloud, but turned to Kurt with a very gentle expression on his face.

"Kurt, these guys are your friends too, okay?" He said quietly, noticing the glee clubbers edging closer to hear but keeping his attention focused on Kurt. Kurt frowned farther, looking extremely uncertain.

"What-but... really?" His eyes flickered to the group, who all looked shocked by Kurt's awe-struck expression. Blaine chuckled.

"Yes, really, Kurt. They like you."

"But... why?" Kurt now looked practically star-struck, and while Brittany looked equally happy and Mike was smiling slightly confusedly, he could tell by the frowns on the other's faces that they were starting to realise that the way Kurt viewed friendship was a little... odd.

Resigning himself to being interrogated later, he grinned at Kurt.

"Same reason I do."

"Oh, I really doubt that." Santana quipped sarcastically, and Blaine blushed as Kurt frowned a little, looking at the other cheerleader uncertainly.

Thankfully Rachel chose that point to join in the conversation once more, cutting off whatever crude thing Santana was about to say.

"Well, Kurt, we count ourselves as your friends. I'm not sure how you didn't realise that, but we are. Sorry for not making that clearer. But, really, we've been chatting in lessons and competing against each other for years now; I think that makes us friends, and really even though we've never met up outside of school, I still believe that it-"

"Rachel Berry, you are going to singlehandedly cause global warming if you keep going like that." Kurt but in, looking slightly fascinated at Rachel's monologue, while Blaine stifled a laugh at the expression on the small brunette's face.

"So... will you eat lunch with us, Kurt?" Kurt looked at Mercedes, before nodding, still looking slightly dazed as Tina linked arms with him and they all moved off towards the cantine.

* * *

><p>"Explain, please." Blaine sighed. He'd barely taken a single step into the choir room, and yet already he had been dragged the rest of the way to his seat, dumped there and had a question fired at him already.<p>

"About what?" As far as Blaine was concerned, there were several things about Kurt that needed to be explained to the New Directions.

"Kurt. His reaction. Why did he look so surprised when we said we were his friends?" The other members of the club had obviously been filled in, as they were all listening intently to the conversation.

"Oh. Um. Kurt... he has a... very low opinion of himself." Blaine answered, choosing his words carefully. When Rachel impatiently flapped her hand at him to carry on, he sighed again, sending a silent apology to Kurt in case.

"He doesn't see himself as worthy. He doesn't understand why you would want to be his friend; he doesn't think that... he's good enough for that? Something like that. I'm not sure, this is just my guess. But he didn't understand why I would want to be friends with him when I asked, so I figure it's the same with you guys. Unless you tell him, he doesn't... get it." Blaine explained carefully, dropping his gaze to the floor so he didn't have to see the horrified, pitying expressions on everyone's faces.

"He really thinks that?" Blaine started as he realised that at some point during his explanation, Mr Schue had come in and obviously caught most of what he had been saying.

"Yes, I think so." Blaine nodded, his mouth turning down and brow lowering as he remembered the unbearably confused expression on Kurt's face from that afternoon.

"Why... why would he believe that?" Artie wondered sadly, and instantly a wave of startlingly cold anger crashed through his veins as his eyes narrowed. From their mutters as he stood, he guessed that they noticed his anger this time.

"Oh, I don't know, but I'm thinking that maybe the fact that he's bullied every single _day_ might just maybe have something to do with it! ?" He snapped acidly, feeling a surge of vindictive pleasure when they (rightfully) looked shocked.

"But... he's not even in Glee club..." Somebody muttered, and Blaine had to close his eyes to try and control his breathing.

"You think that Glee club are the only people who are bullied? He's bullied because he's gay, because he's different, because he doesn't, like the rest of us, 'fit in'. And he's bullied far more than you guys are." He finished bitterly, while his friends exchanged puzzled, thoughtful glances.

"How so, Blaine?" Mr Schue had by now abandoned his stance as a teacher in front of the white board and joined the group, arms crossed and a concerned expression on his face.

"God, if you can't see it, then you're more oblivious than I thought. Especially you, guys, you're on the football team. You seriously haven't noticed? I saw within an hour of getting here!" His voice was rising slightly, and the confusion stubbornly remaining on everyone's faces finally made him snap.

"He's shoved into lockers, he's pushed into doors, he's slushied multiple times a day, god, he was even pushed down the stairs last week! He gets shoved in hallways, and has stuff thrown at him in all his lessons! How can you not even _see_ it?"

A stunned silence greeted his words, as he stared at them all accusingly, chest heaving.

None of them reacted, and he turned away in disgust, yanking his bag up from the floor angrily and striding out with a parting; "I'm skipping club today."

* * *

><p>Kurt was not proud of the fact that he used the school showers sometimes. But on the days he went to the Hummel's garage, on the days he didn't have to be home on time, he used the school showers.<p>

But he found that even at school he never felt entirely safe in the shower, felt far too vulnerable standing there naked in a place where he knows from experience that he cannot easily defend himself.

And so to suddenly hear the angry sounds of a locker slamming, and then the steady _thwack_ of somebody attacking a punching bag with a strangely ordered, controlled intensity while he was showering was really not doing much to help his already frayed nerves.

Nervously, he switched the faucet off, shivering under his thin towel and hurriedly pulling his clothes on while still in the cubicle, trying to be as quiet as possible.

With his clothes and hair a lot damper than he would've liked, he began to very carefully exit the locker room, trying to ignore the sounds from inside the gym just through the wide-open door, his movements practised at minimising noise.

But then his foot knocked against a bench, just lightly, but he still had to bite back a cry at the flare of pain it sent up his leg.

"Hello?" Kurt cursed under his breath and began to walk faster towards the door and the promise of safety, but the person in the gym had clearly moved faster than Kurt, because he was suddenly forced to halt in his tracks by a hand on his shoulder.

He reacted without thinking about it; jerking away and raising his bag in front of him as a shield, twisting around to try and look at the jock, only to find Blaine staring at him, hand still outstretched and an appalled expression on his lovely, lovely face.

"Oh... hi Blaine." Kurt tried for a smile, but his nerves were still a little shaky; and he wasn't entirely sure how it turned out.

"Kurt?" Kurt lowered his bag slowly, trying to even out his breathing as he took in Blaine's appearance- _and_ _oh dear god, he's in a vest_. _And sweating. And his hair is curly. Okay._

_Fuck, his hair is _curly.

Kurt was so distracted by this revelation (it wasn't that he hadn't figured out that Blaine's hair was curly; that fact at least explained in part Blaine's fondness for hair gel. It was just that… it was _really_ curly. And, you know, right in front of him. And sweaty. And distracting) that he didn't notice that Blaine was asking after him until his hand touched his shoulder.

Again on instinct, he flinched away from Blaine's hand, catching the appalled look back on Blaine's face.

"Sorry, I... you were saying?" Kurt hurriedly tried to diffuse the sudden tension, not sure what to make of the tightening of Blaine's expression.

"Are you okay?" And Kurt had to blink back tears just at that, because he'd never had anyone other than Burt ask him that with such a gentle tone since his mother. He tried for a smile again.

"Oh, yeah, you just startled me." Blaine's face relaxed a little, but his brow remained furrowed in concern.

"Kurt, were you... showering?" Kurt flushed, dropping his gaze, before nodding shortly, embarrassed.

"Can I ask... why?" Kurt's blush spread down his neck as he tried to think of a plausible lie. No one had ever asked before.

"Um… it's just easier," he shrugged, and then mentally berated himself for the next few seconds as a flash of pain spiked through his shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked quickly, trying to distract himself.

"Huh? Oh, just… working off some anger." Blaine gave him a sheepish smile.

"What do you mean?" Kurt frowned as Blaine shrugged a little.

"Boxing." He replied, holding up his wrapped hands as an explanation, and _oh, _that wasn't what had Kurt meant when he'd asked; he didn't need to know this because now he was imagining Blaine punching something, and just _no, no, no, this boy cannot be like that, he isn't supposed to be like that, and isn't it such an ironic twist of fate; Blaine's a boxer and Kurt's a punching bag, they fit-_

"-Kurt!" He snapped out of the whirl of dizzying images assaulting his brain and jerked away from Blaine again, this time purposefully.

"Sorry, I just. I don't really like… violence." Kurt answered Blaine's hurt, questioning look as he eyed his bandaged hands. Blaine's face softened, and he held his hand out. Kurt stared at it for a few moments, not understanding, his eyes flying back up to meet Blaine's soft ones.

"Come on." He said, softly, and reluctantly, Kurt reached out and slipped his hand into Blaine's, with barely there pressure, feeling the rough, unfamiliar texture of the bandages with his fingers. Blaine tightened his grip, and tugged Kurt backwards through the changing room, and into the gym, his eyes never leaving Kurt's face as he managed to navigate through the benches with surprisingly little trouble.

"Here. Sit." Still confused, Kurt followed Blaine's instructions, shifting a little in surprise when Blaine sat right next to him, so their shoulders brushed with every movement and their thighs were _this_ close to touching.

"I get why you don't like violence Kurt, but I… I don't want you to see me like that. Can I explain why I do it?" Blaine's voice rose in question, his brows scrunched together in earnest anxiety.

"O-okay…" Kurt answered, slightly fixated by their still clasped hands, but his eyes returned to Blaine's face when he felt the tension rush from the other boy's body.

"Thank you," he breathed, and Kurt cocked his head as he waited for Blaine to carry on.

"So?" Kurt prompted, now genuinely curious to hear why Blaine, _Blaine_, who was so gentle and kind and lovely, would do something like boxing.

"Oh, well. Um. It's… it's for a lot of reasons, but I started because I was bullied." Kurt went very still, and Blaine tightened his grip a little in a squeeze of comfort. "It was after I left public school, when I transferred to Dalton. I was just… so _angry_, all the time, and I needed a release. I guess I also kind of wanted to be able to defend myself…" Blaine trailed off, looking a little sheepish, and Kurt raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Uh, well, I'm not very good at reacting quickly. The thing about boxing, at least with a bag, is that it's… methodical." Kurt shuddered a little, and Blaine swept his thumb across Kurt's knuckles in sympathy, but ploughed on regardless. "I mean, it's measured. Controlled. So that I don't… explode at another time, in an uncontrolled way. You see?" he asked anxiously, the pressure on Kurt's hand increasing slightly. Kurt tilted his head to the other side, frowning as he struggled with the concept of using violence as a form of release to protect other people.

"So… you… you box, so you don't… hurt people?" Kurt asked, and Blaine's eyes widened so quickly it was almost comical, shaking his head vehemently.

"No! God, no, I would never… I hope I would never actually physically _hurt_ someone, I'm not, I'm not _that _out of control…" Blaine's face was screwed up with emotion, but Kurt didn't notice; his eyes fixed once more on their linked hands as he answered softly.

"I didn't think you would." Blaine's breathing hitched, before he relaxed a little. He hadn't even realised just how badly he had needed to hear those words from Kurt's mouth.

"It's just a way of directing anger. I could probably do it by shouting at a wall or something, but…"

"The defence part of it." Kurt murmured, eyes flashing back up to meet Blaine's in a surge of understanding. Blaine nodded, smiling a little.

"Yeah."

Kurt bit his lip again, and Blaine quickly looked away from his mouth-and _how_ had he ended up looking at his mouth again without realising?

"What… how were you bullied?" he asked quietly, eyes curious and expression soft but slightly wary. Blaine sucked in a shocked breath, and Kurt's eyes widened as he realised what he'd just said. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, I was just- sorry." He babbled, before Blaine held up a hand and gave a little huff of laughter.

Nervous Kurt was kind of cute.

"No, no, it's… it's fine. I just… nobody's ever asked." Blaine explained, frowning a little as he realised that it was true. Everyone he would've told already… knew, just from the aftermath of the event.

Cooper had told his friends at Dalton (though he didn't actually discover his older brother's protective rant at his new classmates until _several_ months later, when Wes had asked him about it, much to his absolute mortification), and everyone from Westerville Middle just… knew.

"You really don't have to say anything, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked-"

"Hey, Kurt, stop. It's okay. I… I want to tell you." Kurt's eyes widened, his eyebrows flying up his forehead. Blaine smiled a little.

"Don't look so excited, I'm just going to tell you what happened." He said dryly, and Kurt bit his lip again apologetically, seeming to instantly get what Blaine meant by that. Blinking a little in surprise, Blaine took a breath, pondering how he should start and so, _so_ grateful that for whatever reason Kurt got it; got that he was going to tell him what happened, but that he wasn't going to explain his feelings.

"Well, school was… not great. Not as bad as here, but not great. Mainly, it was just, you know, verbal abuse. Name calling." Blaine shrugged as Kurt cocked his head, eyes fixed on Blaine's face as he spoke. "And then… well, there was this guy in one of my classes, and he was gay too. So I asked him to a Sadie Hawkins dance, just as friends, you know?" Kurt looked thoughtful at that, but nodded at him to carry on.

"Well, it was all… fine. Fun, even. There were whispers and stares and jeers, but nothing too bad." Blaine sighed, and immediately Kurt's face scrunched in apprehension. "It was when we were leaving, afterwards. We were just waiting on the curb next to the parking lot; my dad was going to come pick us up, and… there were these guys. They were older than us, and I guess they saw us… I don't know. 'Being gay'." He muttered bitterly, and jumping a little when Kurt tentatively squeezed his hand in sympathy. As his eyes shot to Kurt's face, he saw the other boy looked slightly terrified by his own actions, so quickly changed his expression into a smile and squeezed back.

"My friend, he kissed me on the cheek. Just to say thank you. And they… well. To be blunt, they beat the crap out of us. Both of us were in hospital for weeks." Kurt squeezed his hand tighter, while Blaine let out another long breath.

Several moments of silence passed before Kurt spoke.

"That's… I'm sorry. What… what did they… How badly…" Kurt hesitated, but Blaine understood.

"How badly was I injured?" Kurt nodded once, sharp and quick as he steadfastly refused to meet Blaine's eyes, seemingly embarrassed at having asked the question. Blaine thought about it.

"Um… I had a concussion… I was in a coma for two or three days. They kicked me a lot, and I ruptured a spleen. I needed surgery. I think the total was something like 50 stitches. Uh, my left arm was fractured, and I had two broken ribs… but that was mainly just bruising. They had to reset one of them; it hurt like hell." He replied, trying to make a joke out of the agony of having part of his ribcage realigned. Kurt gasped a little, and Blaine once more stroked his knuckles soothingly.

"Um… reset?" he asked, and Blaine's eyebrows rose, but he didn't comment on the oddness of the question.

"Like… re-broken and moved. So that it healed properly, in the right shape." Kurt frowned.

"What… what happens if you don't, don't get it… reset?" He asked. Blaine drew back, frowning back at him.

"Well, the bone will heal, but at the wrong angle…" He answered slowly. "Kurt, is there…" he trailed off, uncertain as to how the _hell_ he could phrase that question, but Kurt didn't notice, still looking thoughtful.

Apparently coming to a decision, he shifted his grip, keeping hold of Blaine's hand and tugging it up to his abdomen. Blaine froze as Kurt pushed aside the corner of his jacket and lifted his jumper up to reveal his slightly wrinkled undershirt.

Carefully, Kurt pressed Blaine's hand to his ribcage, and Blaine's breathing stopped.

"Kurt…" He choked, while Kurt just stared back at him impassively. "Kurt, what is that?" He sucked in another shuddery breath, as Kurt dropped his hand; leaving Blaine's pressed over the bone.

"My rib." He answered quietly, still watching Blaine carefully. "It got broken. Is this what you meant? When you said that it healed… wrong?" Blaine swallowed, feeling the jut beneath his hand; a rib sticking out slightly more than it should at the wrong angle from the rest of Kurt's ribcage.

"Uh… yes. But… Kurt, how, how…" He swallowed again, trying to phrase the question and failing miserably. Kurt's eyes were guarded.

"I was nine. I… ran, into a doorframe." He shrugged a little. "I guess we didn't realise it was that badly broken…" He trailed off, giving a little smile. Blaine dropped his hand, unable to bear feeling the _wrongness_ of the strange unnatural angle of Kurt's rib any longer, frowning.

"But, Kurt, didn't you go to hospital?" He asked, treading on very uncertain waters. Kurt looked thoughtful, like he hadn't really considered the question before, and shook his head.

"No. We weren't really… in our right minds at the time." When Blaine continued to stare at him, frowning, he reluctantly expanded. "My… my mother, she had just... died. About two months before my ninth birthday. So, none of us were thinking straight, and then it stopped hurting so…" He shrugged again, just a small movement of his shoulders while Blaine processed the words.

"God, Kurt, I'm so, so sorry…" he murmured, reaching for Kurt's hand again and unable to prevent a small spark of happiness when Kurt willingly let him lace their fingers together.

"Why? It's not as if you're the one who killed her," he answered dryly, and Blaine smiled a little, still gazing at Kurt in sympathy.

"No, but… I'm sorry you're hurting." Kurt stared at him, mouth falling open a little in surprise.

"Me too." He said quietly, looking pained for a second before his expression cleared and he smiled a little.

"Kurt… shouldn't you…" Kurt tilted his head again, but when Blaine's eyes flickered to where his wonky rib was, understanding dawned on his face.

"There's no point now. I'd probably have to pay, and it's not like it hurts any. Maybe when I have more money when I'm older." He smiled again, and Blaine hesitantly smiled back, deciding not push it any further when he saw the sharp edge in Kurt's eyes.

* * *

><p>Kurt shut the fridge door angrily, frustrated that he couldn't slam it. <em>He<em> was home. He hadn't done anything more than a few slurred insults tonight, and Kurt sure as hell wasn't going to _try_ and get his attention.

For three days now, his father hadn't touched him.

Kurt was viewing this development with mixed feelings.

On one hand, it was giving his battered body the opportunity to make a vague attempt at healing - thought he had equally mixed feelings on this too: without the distraction of fresher pain, the aches and stiffness of three-day old bruises were making themselves known.

On the other hand, this had never happened before. The longest he had gone without some kind of beating, even if was just a small shove or a slap or a Chinese burn and nothing more, was two days. It had been a brief period when he was nine, around the weekend of his mother's first birthday since her death, and his father had been too intoxicated to move, giving nine-year old Kurt a small respite.

But this was the first time his father had voluntarily just… stopped. A few muttered insults when they ran into each other were nothing.

And it was making Kurt horribly, _horribly_ nervous.

Because the first beating he'd received after those two blissfully punch-free days had been one of the worst. A long '_bleep_' in a trail of '_blips_'.

His bottom left rib, the unaligned one, was from that day.

Apprehension sat coiled in his stomach, twisted through his brain, clenched around his heart as he waited for him to snap, for the routine to fall back into place.

Sighing heavily, he shot the fridge another glare and retreated up the stairs to barricade himself in his bedroom, muttering under his breath.

Kurt death-glared his faint reflection in the window for a moment, and when nothing changed he jerked the baby blue curtains closed, ignoring the stiffness and aches, but taking more care when he slowly sank onto his bed.

It took him a while to arrange his limbs into a position that didn't cause constant flares of pain, but he eventually settled in a strange, half-curled up shape, staring at the photo on his bedside table.

It was a small picture, not much larger than A5, of his mother holding a toddler-Kurt and being hugged by Kurt's dad. It was a picture that his father had given him, and he had never removed it.

For a few minutes, he felt calm - as calm as it was possible to be when he constantly had an ear out for his father. He hadn't entered Kurt's bedroom since he was ten; but Kurt wasn't sure what to believe any more; uncertain even of his father's most predictable patterns because they were changing, everything was changing.

A frown crossed his face as he contemplated that, his earlier conversation with Burt flashing across his mind.

"_So, any progress on that Glee club?" Burt asked genially, putting Kurt instantly on guard with his don't-be-suspicious-of-me-I'm-just-being-casual-over-here tone._

"_Progress?" He asked, rolling back under the hood with the retrieved spanner._

"_Yeah. I mean, about joining." Kurt scowled, even though Burt couldn't see him._

"_Oh, don't you get started on me too!" He complained, as he attacked the underbelly of the car they were working on with vicious intensity._

"_Hey, don't take that tone. I'm just askin' if you've thought about it." Burt replied mildly, and Kurt sighed, rolling himself out from under the car so he could meet Burt's gaze._

"_I'm sorry. It's just…_ everyone_ is going on about it. They just won't take 'no' for an answer." Kurt tried to explain. Burt nodded slowly, turning a few bolts over in his hands thoughtfully._

"_Do you think that… maybe, you might just be saying no for the sake of saying no?" Kurt pulled himself upright, grimacing a little at the strain on his bruised tissues._

"_What?" He asked flatly, staring at his uncle suspiciously._

"_I mean… Maybe you're just saying no 'cause that's the answer you've been giving. So you don't want to think about changing your mind, 'cause you've always said no?" Kurt glared, standing up properly as his hands reached up automatically to fuss with his scarf and collar; making sure that nothing could be seen._

"_No. Uncle Burt, I don't_ want _to join_._ Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?" He snapped waspishly, and Burt's expression hardened a little._

"_Now, Kurt, I think you and I both know that that isn't true. This is exactly your kind of thing, and none of the arguments you've given me really tell me why. I think you're scared." Kurt flinched, dropping the spanner and stepping back._

"_Well, maybe I am!" He shouted recklessly, before storming out of the shop, ignoring his Uncle's cries after him._

Kurt sighed, and rolled over - carefully - and tried not to think.

When the phone rang, he spent a few moments trying to convince his screaming muscles to _relax_ before he could get up and stumble out onto the landing; where the house phone sat. His father rarely picked up the phone, instead he listened to the messages to see if it was important afterwards, but Kurt would always check the caller ID in case it was school or something.

He frowned at the unfamiliar number, but picked it up anyway, still not really thinking clearly through the turbulence of his emotions.

"Hello? Mr Eleryn?"

"Um, he's not in right now, can I take a message?" Kurt asked, rubbing his face tiredly as he replied on autopilot.

"Sorry, who's speaking?"

"I'm his son."

"Mr Burt Hummel's nephew?" Kurt straightened, his hand dropping from his face as he suddenly focused on the conversation with newfound intensity.

"Yes. Has something… has something happened?"

"Mr Hummel suffered from a heart attack earlier this morning. He's in a coma right now, at Lima Memorial Hospital."

* * *

><p><strong>Hiya guys! Sorry for the wait, and sorry about the numerous emails you will have recieved if you have this on story alert! I reuploaded all the previous chapters in the past tense, sorry for clogging up your inboxes! <strong>

**So, my beta was particularly excited about this chapter, so we would really love it if you could tell us what you thought? XD **

**In reply to some reviews, asking me to clarify some things:**

**XD - it's an emoticon I use, like an extremely smiley face. :)**

**Kurt's shirt at the end of ch. 4 - when he removed his jumper to take a look at the Hudson's car. He removed his jacket, but kept his long-sleeved shirt on, meaning no bruises would have been seen. He also kept his scarf on - which I think I actually forgot to clarify, so apologies for that - which hid the cuts he currently has on his neck. The same dress code applies to when he's working with Burt. Hope that cleared it up!**

**Updating time - I am not going to lie to you. I'm terrible at updating regularly - like, seriously, seriously terrible. My beta should help keep me on track, but sometimes real life will get in the way for both of us, much as we would all love to be able to sit at home and write fanfic all day! But I promise you that no matter how long it takes for me to update, I always always will. I will never abandon a fic or put one on hiatus without telling you, so please don't worry about it. **

**And thank you so much for everyone's fantastic reviews, and to all the people who have favourtied and story alerted this, it means so much to me. *huggles* I love hearing from you, and I hope you enjoyed this and continue to enjoy what's coming next!**

**Lastly as always; HUGE THANK YOU TO MY LOVELY BETA ;P**

**Please review! **


	8. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kurt stared at the phone in his hand, numbness like he'd never felt before slithering through his veins. The little screen dulled as the minutes passed, the innocent plastic casing creaking a little in protest as his fingers pressured it.

With a gasp, he let go; the phone falling to the floor with a clatter as his breath suddenly came rushing back; surging through his lungs in an almost painful return of oxygen.

He braced himself on the small table that stood in the hall, head down as he focused namely on breathing and not collapsing completely. It was several minutes before he could even think about processing the information; struggling to remember the details of that hazy conversation despite it only being a few moments ago.

Lima... Memorial Hospital. He knew where that was. He raised his head, face set, tears kept firmly at bay. He could cry later.

Moments later, he was slipping down the stairs, having redressed hurriedly to hide the bandages and plasters. He wasn't stupid. He hadn't been to a hospital since... _that_ day, when he was eight, when he had come out alive and his mother had not, but he knew what hospitals were like.

He knew that if they suspected, if they saw... everything would change. The mirrors would come down around him in pieces. They would 'reset' his rib. They would take _him_ away. And that couldn't happen.

Kurt stood by the door, hand on latch, and reluctantly turned his head to the side; where the back of his father's head was just visible through the doorway to the living room.

He sighed, still debating inside his mind a little even as he turned from the front door, steadfastly creeping towards the living room. He stood behind the couch, briefly glancing at the flickering lights of some crappy evening TV program – a reality show of some kind, he thought, but he didn't really care. How long he stood there, twisting his hands, he didn't know, but it was a while.

"Um..." He cleared his throat, and his father turned his head. Kurt shook, but stood his ground as his father glared at him with bloodshot eyes. His breath stuttered in his throat, fear curling its familiar way along his veins, but he had his attention now. There was no going back.

"What do you want?" His father asked gruffly, still squinting at him angrily, while Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself to still his hands.

"Burt." He got out. His father's glare increased, but he hurried on. "Uncle Burt, he... he's had a heart attack." He swallowed; his father's face remaining impassive. "He's in a coma, in the hospital." His father jerked slightly.

"Hospital?" Kurt nodded frantically.

"Lima Memorial Hospital, they just phoned to tell us." His father stared at him for a long moment, some unnameable emotion twisting in his eyes, before he turned, uninterested, back to the TV.

"Don't see what that has to do with me." Kurt gaped at him, mouth dropping slightly in shock.

"But! But, he's your brother!" Kurt protested, instantly wishing he had just let it go when his father heaved himself off the couch with surprising nimbleness for someone that drunk, prowling towards him quickly and backing Kurt's trembling figure out into the hall.

"Brother-_in-law_!" He yelled, hands clenching and drawing a flinch from Kurt. "_In-law! _He's _her _brother! Not mine! Not mine! He has nothing to do with me, with us!" And now, the fists connected, and the world fell back into place.

Kurt hated it when he was backed into a corner.

Absolutely _hated_ it; panic attacks coming at him whenever he was thrown in a dumpster, whenever his space was invaded, when he couldn't see a way out; his throat constricted, air choking in his mouth as his limbs shook uncontrollably and sheer, blind _panic_ took over his mind.

Now was one of those times; his mind going white with fear as he cowered in the corner, he didn't register anything; none of it connected; random bursts of pain and colour and sensation flashing across his vision and consciousness, nothing making any sense as he blindly fought to get away get_ out away back away from the wall can't see no way out no way out no no no no no no_

* * *

><p>When Kurt finally came around, he had no idea how much time had passed. It has been late afternoon when that phone-call had hit him, the sky barely darkening at its furthermost reaches as the sun began to dip below the roofs and chimney pots, but now there was no daylight visible through the windows his bleary eyes seemed to be focused on.<p>

He groaned, not daring to move a muscle as he struggled through the hazy layers of his mind, blinking to clear his vision. The sight of the dining room gradually became clearer-_ and how the _fuck_ had he ended up in here? !_ Kurt swallowed nervously, the dry quality of his mouth telling him that either he had shouted a lot, or he'd been here for quite some time.

Swallowing again, he was hit by that horrible wave of uncertainty that always came after this kind of beating; the ones he hated the most for the simple fact that he couldn't remember them. When he had a panic attack, sometimes he could get it under control before his conscious mind gave up on him and just left his body to react on instinct; retreating inside with very little warning and with absolutely no input from Kurt himself. Sometimes, he could even out his breathing, loosen the rubber band that seemed to wrap itself around his lungs, but very rarely.

Certainly not in the middle of his father hurting him.

Never in the middle of that. And so he would blank out, and wake up in a room he didn't remember entering, in a position he didn't remember falling into, with injuries and pains that he didn't remember getting.

With no way of knowing or figuring it out but to move and try and evaluate the damage by sight alone; a far more difficult task than it seemed. At least when he remembered, when he knew that the bruise on his knee was from slamming it into the sharp edge of the counter, he knew to be more careful with it than one he had got from the softer edges of his father's knuckles.

But when he didn't remember, he had make these adjustments to his movements by feel, by sight, by pain. Which was a particularly unreliable source, he had discovered.

Slowly, feeling began to filter back to his brain, nerve endings waking up and alerting him to some of the main concerns of his body in a clamour that had his face twisting into a grimace.

A grimace that was accompanied by a sharp sting of pain as he gritted his jaw.

_Fuck_.

* * *

><p>When Kurt turned up at the hospital, it was nearing 11pm, and he had already probably overdosed to dangerous levels on painkillers. He didn't care, not right then, but that was going to be a bit of a problem if it made him sick or something.<p>

As it was, he continued resolutely to the front desk, smiling as best he could at the vacant woman at the reception.

"Hi, I'm Kurt Eleryn. My uncle is Burt Hummel? I received a phone call earlier this evening informing me that he'd had a heart attack?" He asked, the words he had been rehearsing in his mind for the tense thirty minute drive to the hospital spilling from his mouth confidently. The woman stared at him for a little longer, before turning to her screen and clicking a few times. He bit his lip anxiously, remembering just in time that tapping his foot would be a painfully shit idea, as he waited.

"Ah, yes, hang on. Let me just get his nurse, she'll take you up." The woman, whose name-badge informed Kurt that her name was Kristen, sighed tiredly, standing and disappearing back into the office.

He closed his eyes, lacing his fingers together on the countertop and struggled to just focus on breathing.

"Kurt?" He jerked his head up, eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the woman Kristen was leading to him.

"_Carole_?" he exclaimed, as she smiled at him.

"It's nice to see you again! Though… I wish we didn't have to meet in quite these circumstances." She said, sympathetically reaching out a hand towards his shoulder. He managed to contain his instinctive flinch, but moved away nonetheless; avoiding her hand which she thankfully quickly retracted when she realised that it would make him uncomfortable.

"Me too." Was all he said in reply, breaking the slightly awkward silence following the not-touch, and she smiled gently at him again.

"Here, honey, let me take you up to see him." She turned, giving him another last smile, and completely missing his sharp intake of breath at the term of endearment.

* * *

><p>Carole had not seen much of Kurt before, nor had Finn said much about him, but she was not an idiot. She could tell that Kurt was an outsider, someone who had very few friends. She'd heard about the glee club's repeated attempts to recruit him, had briefly caught glimpses of his unusual but still beautiful fashion ventures, but she had not really interacted with him until the day he smiled at her softly and offered to fix her car, free of charge.<p>

That smile had, to be perfectly honest, made Carole fall just a little bit in love with the boy; so much sweetness, an honest will to help that she rarely saw in teenagers these days contained in that strangely vulnerable expression.

And then he'd introduced her to one of the most heartfelt people she had ever met; a man who while had nothing obvious in common with Kurt from looks to hobbies had still clearly had a hand in raising him. Their mannerisms were different, there tones, voices, speaking habits, dress styles, all of it different.

And yet their mindsets were clearly similar; so much so that at first she had assumed Burt to be Kurt's father, until his call of 'uncle Burt' had reminded her.

When she had seen the name 'Burt Hummel' on the file for her newest patient, her heart went out to the man who had first spoken to her for a few minutes in a garage, and then taken her out for the loveliest dinner she had had the pleasure of enjoying for years.

Her second thought went to Kurt, which was what prompted her to ask reception to notify her if any of Burt's relatives came in; a fact she was incredibly thankful for when she first saw Burt's nephew; pale, stricken and visibly exhausted, slight tremors wracking his frame as she led him to Burt's room, pausing outside to evaluate Kurt's drawn face and the shadows already forming under his eyes, which were slightly red-rimmed.

"Sweetheart, you should probably know…" she trailed off, this time catching his shock at the pet name as she stared at him. He clearly caught her surprise at his reaction, as he smiled a little ruefully through his evident distress.

"I… uh, no one's really… called me something like that for, for quite a long time." Carole frowned at him, but didn't push it; he looked as if he was mere seconds away from completely breaking.

"He's got some tubes, but it's nothing to worry about, okay?" Kurt nodded, taking a few calming breaths as Carole watched; waiting for his nod before she opened the door.

She gave him a few moments by himself with Burt, casually busying herself on the opposite side of the room before she approached, heart strings thrumming painfully when she caught Kurt's hurried movement to hide his tears; his other hand clenched on his knee so tightly that his bones were visibly shifting beneath the taunt skin of his knuckles.

"What… what exactly happened? What's going to happen now? Will… will he be okay?" Kurt asked hurriedly, breathing still slightly ragged as his face screwed up. Carole couldn't stand it; she wanted to gather this boy up in her arms and never let him go, wanted to kiss it better, make Burt better, fix everything that had ever hurt him; the surge of protectiveness almost trumping that she held for Finn.

But she didn't touch him. Judging by the way he'd avoided her hand earlier, he was not someone who liked to be touched, at least not by people he didn't know. Instead, she drew up a chair and sat next to him, struggling to resist the urge to at least take his hand and talking to distract herself.

"He suffered from a heart attack earlier this morning, and while his heart rate is steady and everything looks good, he hasn't woken up yet. He's fallen into a coma, we don't know when he'll wake up. All we can do for now is monitor him and wait." Kurt took another deep breath, eyes returning to Burt's slack face as he processed the information.

"You can hold his hand, if you like." Kurt's expression was similar to that of a startled rabbit, but he relaxed a little when she smiled encouragingly at him. "Talk to him too. We don't know how much he can hear or feel, but chances are he will feel it." Kurt swallowed, before tentavely reaching out to hold his hand, something in the set of his body and expression telling Carole that he needed some time alone with his uncle.

"I'll be just down the hall if you need me honey, okay?" She asked softly, standing and quietly leaving the room at his jerky nod.

* * *

><p><em>The sun was bright. Too bright. So bright it was <em>wrong_._

_Kurt hated it._

_But his mama had liked the sun, so he supposed that maybe it was shining for her. Maybe the sun hadn't quite caught up, maybe it hadn't realized that his mama wasn't here to enjoy the sun anymore, and would never be here to enjoy the sun again._

_Kurt gulped, and blinked furiously. His mama was sad when he cried, so he wouldn't cry, even if she couldn't see it. Uncle Burt had told him that even if Kurt couldn't see her, she was still watching over him, and she would always always love him._

_His mama had said that too._

_But then his mama had also said that she would never leave him, would never go away, would always come back. But she had gone away. She hadn't come back._

_She had died._

_It was a word he knew, but it had never had a real meaning before._

_He wondered if the sun was shining for his mama just in case she was watching, just like he wasn't going to cry in case she was. He couldn't smile, not just yet, he hurt all prickly and sharp inside his chest when he tried, but he wouldn't cry._

_He followed his father's shadow, Uncle Burt nearby, his long black coat swishing across the grass around his shins. He kept looking up, up, up at his dad, the sun blinding him and silhouetting his father's shape. _

_He sniffed anxiously, eyes flickering to his father's hand, dangling just below his eyelevel, loose and empty._

_It was an unspoken rule that any sort of contact was forbidden, but Kurt tried anyway, making a lurching skip-step to catch up with his dad, to slip his hand into his dad's in a wordless plea for comfort, for assurance that the world hadn't completely ended._

_With a jerking motion, he was left behind, hand stretched around nothing in front of him, stricken._

_He didn't understand. His lower lip began to tremble as he sniffed again, desperately trying not to cry. He wouldn't cry, it made his mama sad when he cried, but his mama wasn't here anymore and his dad didn't seem to be here either, not really, and his mama was_ gone_ and why wasn't she coming back?_

_He gave an involuntary wet sob of surprise when another hand, one with calloused fingers and a firm grip, suddenly clasped his own, filling the space._

"_U-Uncle Burt?" he asked, stumbling slightly as his uncle began to gently tug him along once more. He looked up into Burt's face, eyes wide and watery, as his uncle gave him a sympathetic look. He didn't smile either._

"_Come on, kiddo." Uncle Burt didn't let go of Kurt's hand for the rest of the day, not even when his sister's body was lowered into the ground and he began to cry. An adult, crying, and astonishing Kurt out of his own tears. _

_But he never let go of Kurt's hand, not when they were eating or drinking, not when they drove back to the house, not even then._

_He didn't let go._

* * *

><p>"-urt? Kurt!"<p>

He startled awake, jerking back into his chair and throwing his arms up in front of him in a move that was meant to be defensive, but thankfully so muddled by sleep that Carole didn't recognize it for what it was. He blinked sleepily, sniffing a little.

"Carole?" He asked, blinking more rapidly and suddenly realizing that he was crying. Instantly, an embarrassed (and probably very blotchy) blush flooded his face. "Um… I-can I…?" He wasn't actually sure what he was attempting to ask, but Carole silently handed him a tissue with a sympathetic smile, pulling up a chair to sit next to him once more.

"Is he… Has anything happened?" Kurt asked, once his brain had reconnected and he had fully remembered where he was, tucking his dream away for the moment.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but his condition's the same." She told him gently, heart aching a little when his face dropped, eyes flashing to Burt's slack face as his fingers tightened on his uncle's hand.

"I… is he going to die?"

Carole didn't want to answer that question, but the set quality of Kurt's face denied any soft words before she could even begin to _think_ them, let alone say them.

"It's… a possibility. The longer he stays asleep, the less chance there is of him waking up. But you can't give up, Kurt." He glared at her, head whipping around and expression so indignant that she wanted to apologize despite the fact that she had no idea what to apologize for.

"I'm not giving up! I would never, never give up on him! He won't leave me, he won't! He can't…" Kurt's suddenly raised voice trailed off, his chest heaving as Carole, eyes wide, slowly covered his free hand with her own.

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" She asked softly, watching as Kurt bit his lip, eyes dropping.

"Yes. He's… he's everything. I can't lose him, I can't. It's not _fair_," he muttered, quietly, while she squeezed his hand in an attempt at comfort. From his startled expression as he stared down at their hands, he hadn't noticed they were touching until the added pressure Carole had applied in sympathy alerted him.

"Kurt, I'm afraid visiting hours are over, do you have anywhere to go?" Kurt frowned at her, confusion temporarily banishing his grief deeper into his mind.

"What? I'll go home…"

"I don't think you should be alone right now, Kurt." She told him gently, her own confusion growing as Kurt continued to frown at her.

"I wouldn't be alone, my father's at home." There was an edge to his voice when he said the last few words, but Carole couldn't place it, Kurt ploughing on before she could focus on it. "He didn't want to come to the hospital. He… he's Uncle Burt's brother-in-law, and… since my mama died, he hasn't wanted anything to do with any of the Hummel's." Kurt's words tripped over each other as he tried to order them, Carole's heart clenching painfully at the use of 'mama', noticing how Kurt's expression softened, his voice grew more affectionate than she had ever heard it, at the mere mention of her.

"I see. I'm sorry." She said simply, watching as Kurt stared forlornly at his uncle, expression lost and completely indecipherable to her.

Looking back, if Carole had had to choose a moment when Kurt had pulled her in, when she linked herself to him and became determined to help him, she would choose that next moment. The moment when Kurt looked up at her, eyes open and bared in a way that told her he had slept very little, that his usual defences were worn beyond recognition from a mixture of things she couldn't even begin to comprehend, and told her the truth:

"I don't want to go home. Please, please can I stay here? I… Uncle Burt, he's… He's all I have left."

* * *

><p>Finn's mom was late.<p>

That in itself didn't really concern him; her shifts at the hospital often overran quite late, so often that sometimes he wondered why they didn't just officially extend her shift until midnight.

What did concern him, however, was that there was no food.

And there would be no food until his mum got back with the Chinese take-out she'd promised him that morning in return for picking up all of his dirty underwear in his room. There'd been a lot of dirty underwear, Finn was surprised to find, he didn't remember putting half of it on the floor, but there you go.

So while he was killing zombies as they moaned and groaned their way across his screen, fingers automatically finding the correct buttons even through his half distracted, hungry state, he had an ear out. Listening for the still slightly unfamiliar smooth purr of their now fixed car, which sounded better than it had in years.

Of course, multi-tasking wasn't something that came to Finn easily - he'd first heard that word from both Mr Schue and Rachel during a glee rehearsal when he was trying to work out how to sing and dance at the same time, and after Quinn had explained what it meant he liked to occasionally slip it into conversation - and so he still jumped a foot when his mom's voice came floating up the stairs;

"Finn?" Instantly, his game was paused, control thrown to the side and he was thundering down the stairs, the promise of food making him so over-eager that he tripped over his own feet and half fell the last few meters.

"Hi, mom!" He beamed, energized by the thought of food, before he suddenly stopped in shock, eyeing his mom and her companion warily.

"Hi Finn. You know Kurt, right?" She asked, voice as gentle as ever but edged with that all too familiar edge of fatigue. He was too distracted by the person she had just introduced to really focus on it thought, for sure enough the skinny figure of Kurt Eleryn stood behind his mother.

His eyes were downcast, his clothes slightly rumpled and hair tousled. His shoulders had a defeated slump to them that Finn had never seen before, not even when the boy had been thrown into dumpsters. As he stared, he also realized that he had never seen Kurt look less that perfectly put together. Even when he had grease covering his hands and was lying on dirty tarmac under a car, he had always had a kind of… composure (that was another word he had recently heard in Glee club). It was like a shield that surrounded him, the way Kurt had never seemed touched or affected by any of it. Sure, he got angry and sometimes he looked like he was about to cry, like there were cracks, but never had Finn seen Kurt look so… vulnerable. That was the word. Kurt looked vulnerable.

And it was freaking Finn out.

"What's he doing here?" He blurted, immediately feeling a sharp sting of guilt at his mom's reprimanding glare, but feeling another, more unexpected twinge at the way Kurt closed in on himself, folding his shoulders to make himself somehow _smaller_.

"He's staying the night. Burt's had a heart attack." Carole said gently, still sending him disapproving glances as she slowly tucked her hand into the crook of Kurt's elbow, using slow, precise movements that didn't seem to make any sense. Kurt flinched a little at her words, but allowed Carole to lead him through their house and seat him at the kitchen, Finn following partly out of curiosity and partly from the promise of food.

Finn watched Kurt for the entire meal, shooting him little not-so-subtle glances even as he inhaled boxes of Chinese food at a pace that frankly alarmed Kurt, who could not stop staring at the rapidly increasing pile of empty boxes.

Kurt felt oddly empty, drained of any emotion other than a quiet obedience at the back of his mind that immediately told him just how tired he was. His guard was lowered, lower than it had been outside the attic for longer than he could remember, and if he had had the energy, it would have terrified him.

As it was, he merely mechanically swallowed some food down, grateful that Carole didn't push the issue when he said he was full after only a few mouthfuls, and he followed her instructions as she gave him a spare toothbrush and set him up on the couch.

He had the presence of mind to wait until her attention was directed at her hulk of a son before taking his next batch of pain medication, swallowing the pills dry with a frankly shameful desperation as soon as the fog that was hazing his mind began to lift.

The last thing he was aware of was a soft kiss being pressed to his forehead, before he drifted off.

* * *

><p>When Kurt woke up, he panicked. Loudly. Later, he would realize that his half-asleep mind had tried to leap off the couch and preferably get out somewhere where he was less vulnerable, but had failed due to a tangle of blankets and several protesting muscles.<p>

So Carole, woken by the loud thump and an unfamiliar, high, keening noise that reminded her of a wounded animal had prompted her to race down the stairs faster than she had in years, bursting into her living room wildly.

It took her a while to realize exactly what was going on, and by that point Kurt seemed to have calmed down a little; eyes still wide and gaze flickering all over the place as his chest heaved with frantic gasps of air, but standing relatively still next to the coffee table.

"Kurt? Kurt, honey, are you okay?" Kurt's eyelids flickered a moment, before his eyes fixed on her.

"Who… Carole? What-what am I doing here? What happene-_fuck_." The swear slid out of him as soon as he moved, prompting her to hurry closer, remembering at the last minute to try not to make any sudden movements, concern furrowing her brow.

"Kurt! Are you okay?"

"Fine!" He gasped, reeling on his feet slightly before sinking onto the couch. "Just… stiff, is all," he murmured, his arms curling around himself in an achingly protective gesture that made Carole want to wrap him in a tight hug and never let him go. Cautiously, she sat next to him, noting the way his wary eyes never left her.

"You came here from the hospital last night. It was late and…" Kurt's eyes lowered to the ground at the mention of the word 'hospital'.

"And what?" Carole took a breath; reminded so strongly that it was almost painful that this Kurt, the Kurt before her now, was wary, guarded in a way that the tired Kurt of last night hadn't been able to sustain. And this Kurt wasn't going to like that slip up.

"You… you told me you didn't want to go home, so I brought you here." She answered, watching carefully. She saw it when the barriers thickened, walls slamming up behind his eyes as he eyed her with distrust.

"I see. Can… can I have some water?" He asked tentatively, still looking at her as if she was an unexploded bomb.

"Sure, honey. Just wait here, okay?" She replied, getting up slowly, half afraid that he was going to bolt. He nodded, a short, jerking movement, and reluctantly she left.

Kurt waited until he heard Carole rustling around in the kitchen before reaching for his pills, mind working furiously even as he swallowed the medicine hastily, trying to work out what had happened last night. Trying to figure out what had happened when he put the past back into the past.

When Carole came back with the water, Kurt was much more composed, and all the more distant for it. When he left her house with Finn half an hour later, she couldn't help but feel that he was slipping through her fingers.

* * *

><p>Blaine dropped his books on his foot when he saw Kurt.<p>

Which wasn't actually the first time it had happened (a few days ago he'd come in wearing a frankly sinfully tight pair of jeans, and, well, Blaine was only human), but this time it was dismayed shock, rather than oh-my-god-how-can-he-be-that-attractive-he's-definitely-not-human shock.

And this time, he didn't even bother picking them up again, immediately hurrying forwards and cornering Kurt by his locker.

"Kurt! Kurt, what happened?" He asked, softening his voice when Kurt whipped around to face him with wide eyes. Upon seeing who it was that was calling his name, however, Kurt relaxed slightly, obvious relief in his eyes as he let out a tiny sigh, shoulders dropping.

"Blaine. I…" Kurt mouthed wordlessly at him for a moment, eyes shining, before hurriedly turning to his locker and beginning to fiddle with the books and clothes inside. Blaine reached out a hand, resting his palm on Kurt's shoulder in comfort as he searched the other boy's face.

He'd seen Kurt tired, and he'd seen Kurt angry and miserable. But he'd never seen him look so… _beaten down_.

"Kurt… is everything okay?" Kurt sighed again, hands stilling.

"No. No, not really. I… My uncle. Uncle Burt, he… he had a heart attack last night and…" Kurt shut his eyes, Blaine's grip tightening minutely on his shoulder.

"Oh, Kurt…"

"I can't lose him, Blaine, I can't. He's… he's all I have left." He whispered, eyes flying open the next second as if completely unable to believe he had said the words, but Blaine didn't react other than to begin rubbing his hand over Kurt's shoulders, silently offering comfort in a way that he knew his words would never be able to do.

"Come on, let's get to class, okay?"

* * *

><p>"Kurt! Well, I'm glad you've finally seen sense and decided to listen to all of us-"<p>

"Rachel, don't." Blaine warned, trying to convey with his eyes that now was not the time, today was not the day. She opened her mouth again, obviously about to protest, when Mercedes intervened, grabbing the girl and muttering in her ear desperately.

Rachel flipped around, her hair flying, and fixed Kurt with a look that was probably supposed to be sympathetic but just made Kurt shudder a little. Blaine looked at him, asking him silently if it was really okay.

When he had blurted out half-way through English that maybe Kurt could come to Glee club that afternoon, just so he didn't have to go straight to the hospital by himself, it had been another one of those why-do-I-never-think-before-I-open-my-stupid-mouth moments, but while Kurt had looked startled, he'd nodded quickly, shyly stating that it sounded nice and generally making Blaine's heart do inappropriate acrobatics for the rest of the lesson.

But after last period Kurt had turned up at his locker, looking slightly desperate, and when Blaine held out his hand Kurt took it, holding on almost painfully tightly.

Blaine tugged him further into the choir room, where he accepted Tina's hug, smiled a slightly pained smile at the few boys who nodded their heads in apology, and nodded in return to Quinn's gentle touch to his shoulder. Santana, usually a world class bitch to most people, surprised Blaine when she approached Kurt with Brittany in tow.

"Hey Kurt, we're really sorry about your uncle's heart attack."

Kurt nodded again, replying in a shaky voice; "Thanks, Santana." Brittany shifted, her hand tightening around the folder she held clutched to her chest.

"I made a book report on heart attacks, if you want to give it to the doctor." The blonde stated, a little unsure even as she handed the bundle of sparkly pink paper to Kurt, who took it with hands still half covered by his cardigan sleeves. "I got knocked down an entire letter grade 'cause it was written in crayon," she mumbled afterwards. Only Blaine appeared to notice Santana's watchful look, carefully evaluating Kurt's expression so she could protect Brittany, and he felt his heart swell at the sight.

Kurt took it without a word, looking at the glitter with an unreadable expression on his face as Blaine squeezed his hand, leading him over to some empty chairs in the front row of the choir room.

Mr Schue came in, papers in his hand and wearing a sympathetic expression which instantly had Blaine groaning and praying to the god he didn't really believe in to please shut Mr Schue up before he said something catastrophically inappropriate.

"Hey guys. Our thoughts are all with Kurt, and Finn too, and uh... I know it's sort of hard to focus on anything else-" Kurt's fingers tightened spasmodically at the mention of Finn, but his face remained carefully blank.

"Mr Schue?" Mercedes interrupted, expression a little lost and voice sad.

"Yeah?"

"I've been struggling, trying to figure out… what I wanted to say to Kurt all day…" Kurt's expression if anything grew more wary, more guarded and sharp. "And I realize I don't want to say it, I want to sing it." Mr Schue half-smiled at her, beckoning her onto the floor.

"This song is about being in a very dark place and turning to God." Blaine's heart sank a little at those words, feeling Kurt's fingers stiffen around his. "It's a spiritual song, Mr Schue. Is that okay?"

"It's fine." Blaine's gaze flashed to Kurt, suddenly feeling the urge to drag him from the choir room, because _no, it was not fine, why could nobody see that it was so far from fine it was stupid?_

"Tina, Quinn, can you help me out, please?" Kurt's expression had gone carefully glass like, fragile and hard, and Blaine felt slightly helpless. He could see it, so why couldn't they? Why did he decide to bring Kurt here, even though he knew Finn was taking the club through a 'spiritual journey' or something, a journey that _he_ was trying to say quiet about but he knew Kurt wouldn't.

Blaine's heart sank further as soon as he recognized the song: Whitney Houston's 'I Look to You'. A great song, a wonderful song, and he'd be the first to admit that Mercedes killed it, but he knew before he even looked at Kurt's face that it was a bad choice.

When he did glance over to Kurt, it only confirmed his suspicions. This was not the right song to sing to him, possibly not ever, but especially not right now.

The students applauded as the final notes died away, but Blaine was watching Kurt. He took a shaky breath.

"Thank you, Mercedes. Your voice is stunning, but… I don't believe in God." That didn't surprise Blaine. He didn't really believe either. What did surprise him, and hurt him, was Kurt's vulnerable tone, the sadness with which he stated his beliefs.

"Wait, what?" Tina blurted, and Kurt looked round at them all.

"You've all professed your beliefs. I'm just stating mine. I think God's kind of like Santa Claus for adults. Otherwise, God's kind of a jerk, isn't he? I mean, he makes me gay, and then has his followers going around telling me it's something that I chose, as if someone would choose to be mocked _every_ _single day_ of their life. And right now I don't want a Heavenly Father. I want my uncle back." Blaine understood that. He agreed with most of it. But he could see that Kurt was lashing out, was trying to get rid of some of his pain and stress and worry by lashing out at others, seizing on the first topic that presented itself; religion. And he knew that if this had come up at any other time, Kurt would've been much more tactful than he was being.

"But Kurt, how do you know for sure?" Mercedes protested, sounding more upset that Blaine thought she had a right to. "I mean you can't prove that there's no God."

"You can't _prove_ that there isn't a magic teapot floating around on the dark side of the moon with, a dwarf inside of it that reads romance novels and shoots lightning out of its boobs… but, it seems pretty unlikely, doesn't it?" He asked, turning to look at Mercedes with flashing eyes. Blaine squeezed his hand, opening his mouth to speak before Brittany's voice distracted him.

"Is God an evil dwarf?" Brittany asked Santana, but before her best friend could answer, Quinn exploded.

"We _shouldn't_ be talking like this. It's not right." Kurt shook his head, leaning down to collect his bag.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. But you all can believe whatever you want to. But I can't believe something I don't. I appreciate your thoughts, but I don't want your prayers." Blaine's face twisted as Kurt left the room, head held high, and he hurried to follow him, pausing in the middle of the room to look around at them all.

"Thanks, guys." He quipped, injecting the words with as much sarcasm and disappointment and _disgust_ as he could, before he hurried after Kurt.

"Kurt! Kurt, wait up!"

"Are you going to pray for me too?" Kurt snapped, not looking round but slowing slightly to allow Blaine to catch up.

"No. No, I wouldn't do that. I don't believe in God either, to be honest. I'm not really sure. But even if I did, it's not my business… I'm so sorry for the way those guys acted in there, I didn't think… I didn't think they'd be that insensitive, I'm sorry." Blaine said softly, and Kurt's furious pace petered to stop.

"It's fine, Blaine."

"No! No, it isn't fine, Kurt! It made you uncomfortable, and that's not okay." He retaliated, while Kurt looked startled.

"Well… I probably made them feel pretty uncomfortable in return so…"

"Still," Blaine protested weakly, but they both knew it was true; Kurt could be granted some leeway for his situation and really, nothing that he'd said should be held against him, but the fact remained that he hadn't been tactful either.

"Thank you, Blaine." Kurt tried a smile again. Blaine's expression softened, and he reached out to squeeze Kurt's shoulder again.

"You're welcome," Blaine smiled softly at him, glad when Kurt didn't try and force his expression into a smile in return, but let his features fall naturally into a grateful look.

"You… you really don't believe in God?" Kurt asked a few moments later, when they were by Blaine's locker. Blaine glanced at him, smiling again to reassure him that it was fine; he could ask.

"Well… not in the Church sense. I don't put my faith in any one religion." Kurt frowned, eyes tracing over Blaine's features in a way that made his stomach flip again.

"But?" Blaine turned back to his books, considering the question.

"But… I believe in something. That there's… something. Not a God, not an… all controlling, overseeing spirit or anything like that. But… something. _More_. Something else, beyond all of our lives here. Maybe fate? But not, not controlled or… I don't really know how to describe it." Blaine shrugged, flickering a glance at Kurt from under his eyelashes.

"More," the other boy looked thoughtful while Blaine nodded, giving another little smile.

"More," he agreed. The corners of Kurt's lips tilted upwards.

"That sounds… nice." He murmured, eyes dropping from Blaine's face to where his thumb was circling the smooth over his knuckles.

"Yeah, it does." Blaine replied quietly, shutting his locker as softly as he could.

They were interrupted by a harshly grating voice that was so out of place in the moment and yet so ingrained into their environment that it was jarring; "You, gays. In my office."

* * *

><p>The next day, Kurt followed Blaine to glee club again.<p>

Blaine didn't say anything, just took hold of his hand once more and sat next to him, determined that this time if any of his friends tried anything, he was going to speak up.

"Last week we were too sexy. This week we're too religious," Tina was responding to Mr Schue's news with her usual sass. Blaine gripped Kurt's hand tighter. "We can't win."

"Now I know what Miley feels like." Brittany commented. As usual, they continued with the conversation.

"The real tragedy here is that I found the most perfect spiritual song to sing this week, and it's been… torn away from me like Sophie's daughter!" Rachel exclaimed, holding up her hand with an outraged expression on her face.

"Guys, you can still sing whatever songs you like, that sum up your feelings about God, about spirit. You just can't do it on school time." Mr Schue explained with a shrug.

"I hope you're happy, Kurt." Santana sniped, eliciting a disgusted scoff from Blaine, but Kurt got there before him.

"Having the week of my life, actually." He replied dryly. Blaine squashed triumphant smile. It wasn't appropriate, but damn if Kurt wasn't good with his words.

"Guys, back off Kurt, okay? He had every right to speak his mind." Mr Schue warned, surprising Blaine a little, but he also felt a wave of gratitude: most of the kids would probably pay attention to Mr Schue. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Artie nodding in agreement.

It was funny, wasn't it, he thought, how most of the people who still believed in God mostly led relatively easy lives, at least when you looked at the glee club. Artie would never walk again, and he and Kurt were labelled as 'wrong' for being attracted to their own sex. Mercedes, Tina… comparatively, they were better off. The only exception in the room he could see was Quinn, who had found more faith in her religion during her hard time last year, rather than losing it. He wondered if he would've still believed in God, if Kurt would've, if homosexuality were an accepted part of the church. It was an interesting thought.

"Look, Kurt, we're sympathetic to what you're going through but siding with Coach Sylvester isn't gonna do anyone any good," Mercedes said softly, and Blaine turned to look at her.

"He wasn't the only one. I backed her up as well," he stated quietly, as his friends responded with the shock and whispers that he had expected. Kurt stared at him. Blaine had indeed also agreed to file a complaint along with Kurt, but he'd obviously never expected Blaine to own up to it in front of the glee kids.

"What? Why?" Tina demanded. Calmly, he looked around at them all.

"Because I don't believe in God either. I agree with Kurt. And while I think that it's your own decision what you choose to believe in, and I'm not going to dispute that or try to convince you differently. It's your business, and any other week I would just stay quiet about this. But not this week." He shook his head, his gaze turning accusing as he stared around at them all, clenching Kurt's hand as he sat up a little.

"I brought Kurt to glee because I thought you would be supportive. Because I think you guys are great, and I thought that you could offer him some comfort. Not so you could attack him for his beliefs. Not so you could try and convince him that there's a God. If you're really his friends, then why can't you see that he doesn't need this right now? He doesn't need you to tell him that he should believe in a higher power; he doesn't need you to sing about something he doesn't believe in. He needs you to be there, to tell him that you _will_ be there, no matter what." Kurt's eyes were wide when Blaine sat back a little, breathing rapidly from the surge of emotions that had suddenly hit him through his speech. Kurt touched his shoulder, eyes swimming with unshed tears as he stared at him.

The rest of the club looked slightly shamefaced, but none of them made any move to apologize or comfort; they all just sat there, staring at the floor uncomfortably. Blaine felt his anger rising again, uncontrollable and causing his muscles to bunch in his arms and his brow to lower.

And then Kurt stood up, and walked to the centre of the room.

"Mr Schue, if I may?" Mr Schuester looked surprised, but he nodded.

"Yeah," he moved back, allowing Kurt to speak to them all.

"Um, I wanted to thank everyone for your kind e-mails and queries about my uncle, but uh… for your information, his condition remains the same."

They all watched Kurt; his face drawn and pale, and yet there was a wild determination there that hadn't been visible a few bare seconds ago.

"I need to express myself…" Kurt gave a little nod, as the glee club took a collective intake of shocked breath. "So with your permission, Mr Schue, I've prepared a number for the occasion." His face was set, eyes dry as he faced the teacher, who merely nodded and moved to the audience, shock and confusion showing across everyone's faces, as well as a little undeniable excitement that they might possibly be about to hear Kurt sing. Kurt took a deep breath, and while his next words were spoken rather than sung, they all listened attentively.

"On the day of my mom's funeral, when they were lowering her body into the ground, I was crying. I tried not to, but… I mean, that was it. It was the last time I was ever going to see her… and I remember I looked up at my uncle and I-I just wanted him to say something." Kurt's expression was breaking apart at the seams, his carefully constructed barriers cracking and letting the pain he was feeling shine through so strongly that Blaine had to take a steadying breath.

"Just, something to make me feel like my whole world wasn't over. And he just took my hand and squeezed it…" Kurt swallowed, determination flaring once more as he struggled not to break down completely. "And just knowing that those hands were there to take care of me-" Kurt shrugged, meeting their eyes. "That was enough. This is for my uncle."

"_Yeah, I'll tell you something,_

_I think you'll understand._

_When I say that something,_

_I wanna hold your hand._

_I wanna hold your hand, I wanna hold your hand._"

The glee club could quite honestly and collectively say that they were stunned, even the few guys who had heard Kurt singing faintly before. His voice was… indescribable, and yet Blaine could've spent the rest of his days trying to find words.

"_Oh please, say to me,_

_You'll let me be your man._

_And please, say to me,_

_You'll let me hold your hand._

_Now let me hold your hand,_

_I wanna hold your hand._"

It was clear, and sound; hitting each note soundly like a bell despite the tears threatening to overtake him, the emotion leaking into his voice rather than from his eyes.

"_And when I touch you I feel happy,_

_Inside._

_It's such a feeling that my love,_

_I can't hide,_

_I can't hide,_

_I can't hide,_"

They had all heard the song before, of course they had. But they had never heard it in this context, nor sung with such heartbreaking longing and sadness.

"_I wanna hold your hand,_

_I wanna hold your hand,_

_I wanna hold your hand,_

_I wanna hold,_

_Your hand._"

Kurt sniffled slightly, the sound wet and achingly young, and Blaine moved from his chair almost without thinking, arms coming up to hold him as Kurt broke down in his embrace, tears seeping into his shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>Good grief. I'm so so sorry for the delay, I found this chapter very hard to write, and then watching an episode as emotional as Grilled Cheesus so many times was probably a bad idea for my heart ugh.<strong>

**Okay, this chapter is for Rory46, for leaving the most goddamn cutest review EVER; my beta and I legitimately squealed. So thank you so much for that, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)**

**Also, silverfox - the only thing I didn't like about your review was the fact that it was anon and I couldn't reply. Just, YES. IT HAS A THEME TUNE OMG XD**

**But here it is, and the next chapter is shorter so it shouldn't take as long! Hope everyone enjoyed, and please review! XD**


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Blaine? Blaine!" Blaine whirled around, searching for the source of the noise; the voice that he'd already recognized.

"Kurt?" he asked, taking in Kurt's flushed cheeks and shining eyes as he arrived at Blaine's locker in a flurry of movement, his rare smile threatening to nearly split his face in two. "Kurt, what happened?" He shoved the final book into his locker, turning to face Kurt.

"My uncle, Uncle Burt, he woke up!" Blaine froze, staring at him, eyes wide, before his face broke into a smile almost rivaling Kurt's.

"Kurt! That's fantastic!" Kurt nodded breathlessly, still beaming and eyes filled with a kind of light that Blaine had never seen before, unadulterated joy making them practically sparkle.

God, he was the most beautiful thing Blaine had ever seen.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for the news of Burt's recovery to spread through the entire glee club. Kurt received smiles and 'I'm glad's for the rest of the day from the members, and even when Puck approached him, sending nerves spiraling through Kurt's stomach as he pressed himself back against the locker and looked at him suspiciously, he couldn't quite stop breaking out into a smile.<p>

Puck hadn't bullied Kurt recently either, but he wasn't about to suddenly do an about turn and _trust_ him. He had a mohawk and, to be quite honest, he still looked very much like a bully to Kurt, thank-you-very-much, no matter what Mercedes and Tina had told him about the boy's softer side.

But he smiled at him and thanked him when Puck expressed his happiness for him, and for Burt, and as Puck shuffled his feet a little before leaving with a decisive nod, Kurt stared after him, wondering.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Kurt jumped, whirling around and only relaxing when he saw it was definitely Blaine, and not some impersonator with his voice.

"Oh, hi Blaine." He smiled a little. He had free period next and he was planning to see if he could get to the hospital to see Uncle Burt again. Just the sudden realization that Burt would be sitting up, awake, that his eyes would be _open_, was enough to have the happy butterflies in Kurt's stomach fluttering all over the place.

"Kurt, you're in AP French, right?" Kurt glanced over from his own locker to see Blaine looking back at him, hands holding several French textbooks and a folder, looking apprehensively hopeful.

"Yes… what about it?" Kurt said, closing his locker softly and spinning the combination around to lock it. Blaine shifted nervously on his feet, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Well…I… I kind of suck at French." Blaine blurted in a rush, holding out his books. "Help me?" he asked, eyes wide and pleading and _damn_, did he even know what he was doing? Gazing at Blaine's scrunched eyebrows, and hazel eyes that could only really be described as 'puppy-like', Kurt wondered whether Blaine realized that most of the general population probably couldn't say no to that face.

"Uh… okay. What do you need help with?" Blaine gave a funny kind of groan that was both a mix of gratitude, relief and desperation; doing rather odd things to Kurt's stomach in the process, and sagged against the lockers.

"Oh god, thank you so much!" He exclaimed, while Kurt stared at him with one eyebrow raised. "I've never done French in my _life_ before, and it's so confusing!"

Kurt snorted.

"I was going to say, the French curriculum here isn't exactly challenging. Though I suppose if you've never learnt any before… what did you do at Dalton?" The thought occurred to Kurt suddenly, from what he had heard, Dalton was a top-notch school; they must have done a language of some description.

"Latin, German, a bit of Greek." Blaine shrugged. Kurt's mouth fell open a little.

"Oh, is that all?" he asked incredulously, drawing a laugh from Blaine, a rich, ringing noise that Kurt immediately wanted to hear more of. When the realization that _he_ had been the cause of it hit him, Kurt sort of forgot how to breathe.

It seemed like such an insignificant thing, to make someone laugh, but Kurt couldn't remember the last time he'd done it. Burt sometimes chuckled at him, but usually only when Kurt was being melodramatic and was not in the mood to be laughed at (he was never particularly in the mood to be laughed at, to be perfectly honest, but that was besides the point), and his… friends… they had never laughed like that.

Although maybe that was just Blaine being unfairly Blaine-like as usual.

"But, anyway, you'll tutor me?"

Kurt nodded, suddenly dropped back into the conversation, a little uncertain.

"My teacher asked me to tutor some of the… less-able students the other week, but I don't know how much help I'll be," he explained, as Blaine finally decided that Kurt was convinced enough for him to put his entreating pile of textbooks away.

"Any help will be so helpfully helpful you have no idea," Blaine answered, a reverent tone to his voice, as Kurt scrunched up his nose.

"I don't think that even made any sense…" He trailed off as Blaine grinned at him, successfully derailing his thoughts once again.

* * *

><p>"Don't you need to be getting home?" Kurt froze, before forcing himself to relax his shoulders and carry on clearing the dishes.<p>

"It's fine, Uncle Burt. You need to be taken care of!" he scolded, fleeing into the kitchen with the crockery, feeling the box of painkillers in his pocket bump against his thigh with a flash of guilt.

Burt chuckled slightly, leaning back into the pillows as Kurt returned to the living room, fussing with the blanket needlessly until another chuckle from Burt stopped him and sent a flush up his neck.

"C'mere, kiddo." Kurt eyed the spot next to Burt warily, but hurried to comply when he caught his uncle rolling his eyes. "I'm not going to break, you know." Burt murmured, putting a gentle arm around Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt stiffened; he couldn't help it. It was instinctive to the point that he didn't even realize he did it anymore. Only when Burt tugged him in closer did he take a deep breath, surrounding himself with that familiar smell of _Burt_ to remind himself that he was safe here. That he could relax.

"Sorry. I'm just worried." He mumbled into Burt's shoulder apologetically. Burt rubbed his hand over Kurt's shoulder comfortingly, while Kurt tried to focus on the warmth of his uncle's hand and not the slight twinges of pain from the various bruises littering the skin there.

"I know. But I'm _fine_, I'm going to _be_ fine, Kurt. You shouldn't have to worry about me like this." Burt sighed, while Kurt just closed his eyes and reveled in the simple gentleness of normal human contact.

"So… Finn told me that you sang for Glee the other day?" Kurt stiffened again, and this time he didn't force himself to relax, drawing back so he could eye his uncle's expression suspiciously.

"Yes…" He answered slowly. If Finn had already let that slip there wasn't much Kurt could do about it now. Burt hummed thoughtfully, while Kurt scrutinized his expression. "What?" Burt looked at him, eyes widening in a façade of innocence.

"Just… from how much Finn was going on about it, the others thought you were pretty good." Kurt's expression flattened as he glared at his uncle.

"Is this another ploy to try and convince me to join?" he said suspiciously, but Burt refused to lose his temper, his expression practically serene and tone even.

"No, it's just a request. Think about it, Kurt. I've asked you to before, but I don't think you really did. And if they think you're good, then why not join? Please? I miss your singing, Kurt." Kurt stared at his uncle, surprised to find that he felt only a little dismay when he began to waver.

He _would_ enjoy it. And they did think he was good, and he'd been going to the last few practices anyway. And then there was Blaine.

Blaine.

Who had burst into his life with all the suddenness of a sunbeam after a storm; startling in its cheerful brightness and instantly making the entire world seem brighter and more hopeful, even if the clouds remained in an overcast sky, even if the rain still fell. Sometimes a single ray of light was enough to re-color the grey into… not warmth, not yet, but the _promise_ of warmth.

"Okay."

"Come on, Kurt, please- wait, what?" Kurt shrugged, dropping his eyes in an attempt to avoid his uncle's piercing gaze.

"I said okay." Burt stared at his nephew for a while, while Kurt fidgeted a little under his gaze.

"Okay, what changed?"

"Wha- nothing. Nothing's changed…" Burt just looked at him, disbelief clear in his eyes, but he let it go with a shake of his head and a squeeze.

"Well, I hope that whatever it is turns out to be worth it kid."

* * *

><p>"Blaine, '<em>rester<em>' takes _être_, not _avoir_."

Blaine's eyebrows scrunched together in puzzlement as he tried to remember what Kurt had said earlier.

"You said '_J'ai reste dans la maison_, and it should have been '_je _suis_ reste dans la maison_." Kurt elaborated, giving a soft snort of amusement when Blaine dropped his head to the desk with another groan.

"How do you remember all of this? How? I just can't get a grip on which verbs take _avoir_ and which take _être_!" Kurt laughed outright as this; a beautiful noise that had Blaine grinning to himself despite his woes with language. Still giggling in a ridiculously cute way, Kurt dragged a spare piece of paper across the table, his nimble fingers searching out a pen.

"Here, try this; MRS VANDERTRAMP," Kurt spelt the letters out in capitols down the side of the page, while Blaine shifted closer; bending his head close to Kurt's so he could see. "And then you can remember them like this; _**M**__onter, __**R**__ester, __**S**__ortir_, then _**V**__enir, __**A**__ller, __**N**__aitre, __**D**__escendre, __**E**__ntrer, __**T**__omber, __**R**__etourner, __**A**__rriver _and _**M**__ourir_. See? All of these are exceptions; and take _être_ in the perfect tense." Kurt explained, emphasizing the first letter of each verb as he recited them, before he began to write them out for Blaine.

"You're a genius. So now I just need to learn all this by heart. Great." Blaine, without thinking, dropped his head onto Kurt's shoulder in mock despair (okay, maybe not so much _mock_ despair, but he was being a little over dramatic), and only realized the intimacy of his actions when Kurt's shoulder tensed beneath his cheek.

Blaine froze in response, but on a whim didn't move, forcing himself to just gently rest his head there.

After a while, Kurt's shoulder relaxed, a faint shuddery breath reaching his ears as it did so. Blaine grinned a little, a surge of squealy happiness exploding in his stomach.

"No, but seriously, how can you remember all of these?" Blaine continued, deciding to ignore the little moment in favor of continuing to berate Kurt for being so bloody good at French.

When he'd asked the boy to tutor him, it had mainly been an excuse to spend more time with him, if Blaine was being perfectly honest with himself. He had figured out, both from Kurt's off-handed babbling when he was late for their first time eating lunch together and from badgering Mercedes and Tina, that Kurt was good at French, and had jumped at the chance.

That was not to say that Blaine did not need some quite serious help with his French (he did), but he hadn't realized just quite how _good_ Kurt was. He was basically fluent. And the sound of French words rolling off Kurt's tongue… it was music.

Blaine thought he understood a little better now why people called French 'the language of love'.

"It was my mother." Blaine jumped, raising his head so he could look Kurt in the eye; see his expression, which was at that moment a little lost. Tentatively, Blaine slipped his arm around Kurt's shoulders, unable to stop the thrill that went through him when Kurt didn't tense or pull away.

"Sorry?"

"My mother." Kurt looked at him, eyes wide and grey, silently asking a question Blaine couldn't hear.

"What about her?" He asked softly, rubbing his hand over Kurt's shoulder comfortingly. Kurt's mouth curved a little into a soft smile, and Blaine knew that whatever Kurt had been silently asking, whatever he'd been looking for in Blaine's eyes, he'd found it.

"She used to talk to me in French all the time. I essentially grew up speaking both languages. Mama said that she always preferred French because it was so beautiful. She was determined that even if it was too late for my uncle or my father, that I would learn it. I just carried on speaking it after she died." Blaine stared at Kurt in shock, his heart clenching painfully on the 'mama' and feeling so touched he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

Kurt met his gaze, again searching for _something_ with startling intensity, before smiling at Blaine softly.

"She would've liked you."

Blaine smiled back, gently, and trying to ignore the rabbit-quick thrumming of his heart. "I think I would've liked her too."

Kurt smiled properly at that, his grin stretching across his face and a teasing light blooming in his eyes as the color shifted slightly.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. She would've made you wash your hair gel out every time she saw you." Kurt laughed as Blaine sat back with a comically outraged expression on his face.

"What! What's wrong with my hair gel?"

"Nothing, except how much of it you use." Kurt answered, the light dancing in his eyes in such a way that Blaine couldn't help but smile back despite the teasing.

"If you had hair as unruly as mine, you would use gel too," he pouted, causing Kurt to laugh again. God, Blaine could live off of that sound.

"There's nothing wrong with a little product Blaine, we just need to put some emphasis on _little_. It looks like a helmet."

Blaine waggled his eyebrows. "But a _nice_ helmet, right?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, still grinning uncontrollably. "You wish."

"You know it is. You know you like it really."

"No Blaine."

"You do."

"I really don't."

"If I buy you another coffee, will you admit to liking it?"

Kurt eyed him playfully.

"I'll consider it."

* * *

><p>"Kurt! Welcome to the New Directions!" Mr Schue proclaimed, his announcement quickly heralded by enthusiastic applause, Blaine clapping especially hard and ignoring the look he got from Santana as Kurt flushed and gave a little bow.<p>

"Um, thank you." Mr Schue went to clap Kurt on the back; his hand swinging up and out of nowhere in a movement so sudden it would've made most people jump, never mind Kurt. Blaine was out of his seat in an instant, but he was just too late.

Kurt flinched violently, his shoulders curving in protectively as he leapt to the side, eyes darting around the room as Mr Schue froze, his face the picture of shock.

"Hey, Kurt, it's okay, he was just trying to be friendly," Blaine murmured, slowly bringing his arms up to rest on Kurt's shoulders even as the muscles beneath his fingers began to relax.

"I know, sorry, I just… I panicked." Kurt gave a shaky smile, as Blaine led Kurt to where he'd been sitting at the back, while Mr Schue apologized for making Kurt jump and promptly began his lesson.

When Rachel interrupted Mr Schue with a stream of incessant babble that was, Blaine was sure, tremendously interesting but not particularly important, that he leant over towards Kurt.

"Kurt? You okay?" Kurt glanced at him, startled, before smiling again and nodding.

"I'm fine." Blaine frowned, but left it alone.

As the weeks progressed, Blaine watched Kurt; in Glee, in the hallway. He watched him; just watched. He knew it was borderlining creepy, but compared to all of the gazing he'd been doing, merely watching him and not admiring (much) was nothing.

So Blaine watched him, really watched.

Watched the way Kurt flinched every time somebody closed their locker. Watched the way he did rapid about turns whenever he glimpsed a letterman jacket, the way he took the oddest and most unusual routes to get to all of his lessons, the way he kept several changes of clothes, a towel and even a _first aid kit_ in his locker.

The way sometimes in Glee, he'd move a certain way and suddenly wince, as if something was hurting him, the way he jerked away from people's raised hands and sudden movements, the way he was constantly on edge.

The way he hardly ever smiled unless Blaine specifically tried to make him.

And Blaine was suspicious. He could see why, in an environment like this one, Kurt would be jumpy; the way he was treated was enough to force anyone to their limit. What confused him was that Kurt didn't react in the same way to the actual shoves and pushes and punches. He took them like they were inevitable, part of life, and yet shied away from any form of physical contact that he could.

In Blaine's mind, the two reactions clashed with each other: wary and resigned with nervous and calm.

All Blaine could figure was that there was something up with Kurt Eleryn, and he was determined to find out what it was.

* * *

><p><strong>WOOOHOOOO another chapter! And it's been less than a month this time round! *feels proud* Though admittedly this one is a lot shorter than last chapter. And Kurt's... almost happy in this. Which was very weird to write. 0.0<strong>

**Anyhoo, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, story alerted and favourited this, and I hope you all enjoyed! XD**

**And a HUGE thank you to my beta, as always! ;D**


	10. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Kurt turned his head from side to side, examining his jaw in the mirror with an intense scrutiny that, if anyone else had seen, they would have found a little alarming. The purple bruise that his father had left on the left side of his jaw had alarmed Kurt to the point of nearly having another panic attack when he'd first found it.

Obviously, he had a full supply of concealer and was rather good at using it too, of course he was, but there was a reason why he tried to protect his face. No matter how good he was with make-up, facial injuries were the hardest to hide, the face was the one place where people's eyes focused even when they were punching you or shoving you or chucking a slushie in your face.

And then there was the other problem: slushies tended to mess up his make-up just enough to make his nerves jitter with worry; to make him keep his head down and examine his face with an intensity bordering on paranoia.

Sighing, he pulled back to look over his face and what he could see of his torso above the line of the sink. There was just a little too much shadow where the fast-healing bruise was, just enough that people would probably ask, which meant more make-up tomorrow.

On the upside, the cuts on his neck were now a series of pale pink lines, within a couple of days, they'd have faded enough for him to ditch the scarves. He loved scarves, he really did. They were, in his opinion, one of the best accessories (other than brooches) to grace the world of fashion, but he found that when you were forced to wear something out of a necessity, its appeal could rapidly dwindle.

He was desperate in an odd way to feel the air on his neck during the day, but it was a desperation he could handle.

He had a bit of a love/hate relationship with clothes and skin products. On the one hand, he genuinely liked clothes, liked the process of creating outfits and combinations from swathes of plain material with a few strategically placed pleats and folds. He liked the way clothes could so completely transform someone; the optical illusions created by lines and colours and shapes.

He liked make-up and hair-styling for similar reasons; the way you could completely change someone with a few strokes of a brush or a quick spritz of hairspray absolutely fascinated him.

On the other hand, the way he designed his clothes, the way he put together his outfits and styled his hair and applied his make-up was all about lies. Subterfuge. His creativity was constrained by the need to cover up, to conceal, to protect. And he hated it.

Heaving another sigh, he let his eyes travel down his torso, taking in the bruises littering his ribcage, the scars across his chest which he knew nearly matched the ones on his lower back, upper shoulder and the back of his knee perfectly, all applied the same way within a week when he was about twelve. His gaze lingered on the jut of his rib, briefly remembering the feel of Blaine's hand there, the warmth and sense of comfort he had gotten even from that simple touch.

The swelling in his shoulders had gone down though, which was another plus, and he was pretty sure that the majority of his bones were still intact despite the near daily beatings he'd been getting lately for staying late at the hospital and then Burt's house. Though he also knew that the backs of his shoulder blades were basically purple by this point from a combination of locker slams, dumpster tosses and the quick-fire punches from his father after he got back from Glee.

He was also basically living off pain medication, which wasn't doing wonders for his mental capacities, and on top of that he was learning to dance and sing in harmony with other people, something he'd never done before. With taking care of Burt, trying to figure out how to tutor Blaine (that boy was truly terrible at French) and trying to avoid the bullies in the halls as well, Kurt was more stressed than he'd been in a while, despite his brief burst of initial happiness when Burt woke up.

He was so exhausted that he fell straight into bed later that night and barely managed to say 'Bonne nuit, maman' before he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>"Kurt, you look exhausted, and I don't think this is doing us any good." Blaine sighed, flipping his textbook shut. Kurt frowned at him from across the cluttered table for a moment, before his entire body sagged into his chair.<p>

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Life catches up with everyone sometimes." Blaine smiled softly, but his brow scrunched mere moments later when Kurt didn't respond; his eyes glazing over. "Hey, Kurt?"

"Mmm?"

"Kurt!" Blaine leaned across the table, bending down so he could look the tired boy in the eye and waving a few fingers in front of Kurt's face.

"Yes?"

"God, Kurt, you look dead on your feet. Why on earth are you so tired?" Blaine asked as Kurt gave himself a little shake and yawned, sitting up a little bit and blindly searching for his cup of coffee.

"Just… stuff." Kurt waved a hand vaguely, peering into the bottom of his empty cup forlornly, as if wondering where the caffeine had gone.

Blaine could feel the tight pull across his face from a worried frown, and as he got up he did nothing to change his expression; thoughts flying through his mind as he struggled to think of a way to subtly press Kurt for more details.

"Here." Kurt jumped again when he placed the fresh cup in front of him, eyes flying open and jittering around the room in a panic before he apparently figured out where he was and calmed down a little.

"What- oh. Thank you." He murmured, reaching for the cup. Blaine sat, nursing his own drink between the cage of his hands as he watched his friend thoughtfully; taking in the bags under his eyes, the fragility in his eyes.

Blaine had seen Kurt like this before, back when he had just joined Glee.

Thinking back to it, Blaine suddenly realised that Kurt had let him in further than anyone else, and yet still Blaine was as helpless as anyone else when it came to figuring out how to help him.

There was one major difference between this time and last time though. This time, Blaine felt secure enough in their friendship to ask.

"Kurt, what's going on?" Kurt's gaze snapped to him, suddenly alert and focused, walls slamming up so hard that it almost physically pained Blaine to see, but he carried on. "Just… tell me why you're so tired? Is there anything I can do to help?" Blaine pleaded, searching Kurt's blank expression desperately. "Please, Kurt."

Kurt eyed him. "I… I'm just stressed, Blaine. I'm adjusting to Glee, and taking care of Uncle Burt, and…" Kurt paused for a second, before closing his eyes and ploughing on, an odd expression on his face as he struggled to get the words out. "The… the bullying, it's got a bit worse recently, and it's all just piling up and up and up, and I'm not sleeping well. That's all." Kurt sighed, the tension in his body relaxing slightly as he admitted it all in a tumbled rush.

Blaine reached out and took his hand with only the barest moments of hesitation.

"Kurt, you don't have to adjust to Glee so fast. I've seen you in rehearsals, and you don't have to push yourself so hard… it hurts, sometimes, doesn't it?" Kurt grew very still, his eyes fixed on Blaine's enquiring face as he swept his thumb across the back of Kurt's knuckles.

"You don't have to get it right away. Nobody expects you to suddenly just be able to do it all, Kurt." Kurt breathed out hard through his nose, and took another hasty gulp of coffee.

"I-"

"And I thought Finn's mom was helping look after Burt?" Blaine asked suddenly, brows scrunching and looking up at Kurt in alarm when his hand jerked slightly.

"She is, but. I… I don't know. She's…"

"They're dating right?" Blaine clarified, and Kurt nodded, looking frustrated.

"So you… you don't like her?"

"What? No, no, I like her, she's… lovely. She's just… too nice. She's like you. Too nice to be real." Kurt mumbled, eyes dropping to the stained tabletop as Blaine's heart rate sped up suddenly.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"I guess. I just… It's Finn."

Blaine made a face, and Kurt snickered a little. "Ah. Finn."

"Yeah."

"Anything in particular, or just generally… Finn?" Kurt snorted at that, shaking his head.

"I don't like him around my uncle. He's too big and clumsy, and he breaks things. He shouldn't be allowed near sick people, honestly." Blaine chuckled, but his eyes narrowed a moment later.

"There's something else though, isn't there?" Kurt started, before flushing slightly, refusing to meet Blaine's gaze. Blaine squeezed his hand.

"C'mon, you can tell me. You can tell me anything." He answered softly, and Kurt stared at him for a few long moments, mouth slightly parted before his expression crumpled.

"Woah! Hey, Kurt, wait, no… I'm sorry, okay? Whatever I said, I'm sorry… please don't, don't cry, Kurt, please…" Blaine moved around the table, his hands fluttering frantically as Kurt gave a funny little gasp, trembling fingers wiping under his eyes.

"Sorry, I just…" Kurt giggled a little, the sound coming out slightly strangled and wet.

"What? Did I say something?"

"No, I just… I can't tell you everything, Blaine." Blaine leant back slightly, as Kurt continued to half laugh and half cry, something painful in his chest clenching.

"No, right, of course not, but… I just meant that I'm here. And I'll listen." Blaine said uncomfortably, while Kurt wiped his eyes once more.

"Wait, no, that's not what I…" Kurt looked up, shocked, as Blaine moved back to his seat, feeling a little hurt. "I didn't mean it like that, I just… I've never had a best friend before. I've never really had anyone to… tell things to, that's all, and I just… I don't know. My brain's not making any sense today." Kurt sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead tiredly in frustration.

"Best friend?" He asked, both simultaneously happy and sad at that proclamation. Kurt looked a little panicked, before he bit his lip shyly.

"Yeah?" Blaine smiled, nodded, and told himself off for reading into everything too much.

He could be Kurt's best friend, and be happy with it.

But it still hurt.

* * *

><p>The following weeks were strained. For Kurt, his father got drunker and drunker, his outbursts more and more violent, Glee rehearsals became more intense, and he really, really didn't like the way Karofsky looked at him these days. He walked around in a haze, just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.<p>

For Blaine, well, Glee was getting more intense for all of them, and Rachel kept bugging him about singing with her what seemed like every single time she emoted. And Rachel emoted a lot.

Kurt was pulling away from him.

Blaine wasn't sure if Kurt even realised he was doing it, but somehow that just made it hurt more. They didn't meet up for coffee anymore; Kurt having begged out of tutoring just for a little while until 'life settled down a little bit', which was of course perfectly reasonable and Blaine agreed to in a heartbeat.

But he couldn't help but feel that he was losing his best friend, despite Kurt's proclamation of it barely a week ago. He didn't talk to him outside of Glee; managing to catch glimpses of him in the hallways and sometimes greeting him by his locker, Blaine was left in that horrible in-between place where you feel like that person is slipping away from you, but you can't do anything about it.

Everywhere he turned with Kurt, he was met by another block, another wall, another tangle of mysteries that both frustrated him and fascinated him in equal measures. Blaine was a person who liked to fix things quickly, but with Kurt, it was so much more than that. So, so much more, but he couldn't push, couldn't rush in and try and save the day or whatever, because… it was rude, on one level, and on another, it was Kurt's business. If he didn't want to have Blaine privy to that then… what could Blaine do? But it didn't make the boy any less fascinatingly frustrating, didn't make the ache in Blaine's chest go away.

And he knew it was unfair, and ridiculous, he knew that, but the frustration was getting to him. It wasn't Kurt's fault, it was Blaine's, for having such an insufferable need to make people happy, which for whatever reason was increased tenfold when it came to Kurt.

He just wanted to see him smile, and he was tired of getting nowhere with it.

Maybe that was why, after two weeks of not quite seeing eye to eye with Kurt, when a young, fairly attractive young man with vaguely questionable hair asked him to go out for coffee, he said yes.

* * *

><p>Kurt closed his locker, feeling marginally more human after an entire day of inhaling as much caffeine and painkillers periodically (he wasn't entirely sure he was supposed to mix those two together, but… he needed coffee) and breathed out slowly.<p>

He was going to stay with Uncle Burt for the weekend; his father having had to go on one of those business trips he very rarely got called away for. They'd only happened a few times since his mom died, but they were the best times, whole _days_ of not having to worry about his every action, not having to worry about when he got home, and… it gave him the most incredible sense of freedom, even if his routine actually rarely changed.

So even if he was going to do nothing this weekend but take care of his uncle, help out at the shop and cook, and possibly even catch up on his sleep, he was ridiculously excited about it. That plan got shot to hell the minute Rachel turned up at his locker, with Mercedes and Tina in tow.

"Kurt!" He sighed again, turning to face them warily.

"Yes?"

"We would like to invite you to a sleepover at the Berry residence, this evening, for a Twilight movie marathon and spa treats." Kurt blinked at her as Rachel beamed at him proudly, Tina and Mercedes looking on hopefully.

"Um… I'm a boy…" Kurt said slowly, examining his… friend's expressions.

"Yes, but you're gay, so my dads don't mind you sleeping over." Kurt blinked.

"Wait, dads?" Rachel looked surprised, before her beam was back in full blinding force.

"Yes, I have two gay dads. So are you coming?"

"Uh… okay?" Kurt agreed. He knew that Burt would be fine with it, and he didn't know when he was going to get another weekend like this; where he could go out. He was curious, and besides, that was what friends did, wasn't it? They met up outside of school, to just… watch movies and stuff. Right?

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't actually get to meet Mr and Mr Berry that evening, they had gone out for dinner, but he was overwhelmed enough by the nature of the Berry home.<p>

It was incredibly different not only from his own house, but even from Uncle Burt's. Despite Burt's growing relationship with Carole, his house was still that of a single man. Still neat, mostly from Kurt cleaning it up and tidying, it had very little personal touch to it that actually appealed to Kurt.

The Berry home was completely different, full of evening light when he arrived, and there was a piano in the drawing room, the basement had a stage. An entire room just dedicated to performing! Rachel's room was that of a little girl's, and the interior designer in Kurt wanted to gag, but at the same time it was… lived in. Not like Kurt's room. It clearly showed who lived there, that they lived there, the very presence of Rachel Berry woven into the carpet fibres, even if, in his opinion, her curtains should really be burnt.

When he was shoved playfully into the bathroom down the hall to change into his pyjamas, despite his protests that it wasn't even dark out (which were met with outraged cries that you had to be in your sleepwear for a sleepover, no matter what time it was), he found himself faced with striking red tiles and gleaming white basins, folded, impossibly fluffy white towels, and expensive soap.

In the mirror above the sinks, he looked pale and slightly uncomfortable; put together but somehow not quite… smart enough. He looked out of place, he _was_ out of place in an environment like this one. With a sigh, he changed, and touched up the concealer on his neck and jaw line, covering up the marks of just how badly he did not fit in.

When he returned in his blue silk pyjamas, the girls had already settled around the room, Kurt shifting uncomfortably by the door as he watched Tina and Mercedes. They were flopped onto the bed with ease, and Rachel was by her TV, inserting a DVD.

"So, Twilight first?" She asked, without turning around, and was met with a chorus of 'yes's from Mercedes and Tina.

"Hey, Kurt, come sit." Kurt jumped a little, before cautiously dropping his bag to the floor and approaching the wide bed with slight trepidation (What? It was covered in girls, of course he was nervous).

But uncomfortable as he was, he did genuinely like all three girls (Rachel was maybe a little iffy sometimes, but he did like her) and for whatever reason, they seemed to genuinely like him; and wanted to share their sleepovers with him. By the time they had moved onto the second movie, they were all sprawled across the bed, bowls of food clutched in various hands and being passed around in synchronised movements.

"Oh my god, Kurt, we haven't asked you yet!" Tina suddenly burst out, somewhere in the middle of yet another creepy speech from Edward. Kurt dropped the bowl of popcorn, which thankfully was mostly empty and plastic, landing with a harmless thump on the carpet as he stared at Tina's excited face.

"Oh wow, you're right, we haven't!"

"What are you talking about?" He asked, feeling more curious that scared by their excited glee.

"Kurt. Jacob or Edward?" Rachel asked, clasping her hands in front of her and posing the question with mock seriousness. He stared at her for almost a full minute, incredulous.

"Um… Kurt?" Mercedes nudged him, breaking his daze.

"How is that even a question? !" He almost shrieked, sitting up and looking round at them all with almost disgusted surprise.

"So which one?" Tina grinned at his reaction, but leant forwards in anticipation of his answer.

"Jacob! Taylor Lautner… Have you seen him? He's so gorgeous, and he's shirtless like, the whole movie!" He protested, before freezing suddenly, hands clapping over his mouth with a squeak.

He hadn't meant to say that.

People didn't like it when he did that, when he talked about who he found attractive, and he'd been having so much fun and now he'd ruined everything-

"YES!" Tina punched the air in victory, while Rachel buried her head in her pillow with a groan, much to Mercedes' evident amusement.

"What?" Kurt gasped and then quickly stifled a yelp of pain as Tina tackled him in a hug.

"I knew you had good taste! Rachel thinks that Robert Pattinson is hotter, she's insane!" Tina explained, getting off him at his indignant expression as he quickly forgot his embarrassment and was caught up in debating the various merits of both actors.

"Abs, Rachel, _abs_. And rain. Abs and rain. I really don't need to say anything more." Kurt protested with finality, and Rachel sighed, but didn't try and put forward another point about jaw lines, a crafty gleam appearing in her eye.

"I hear Blaine is quite strong… he's probably got abs." Kurt froze, choking a little on the sudden image of a shirtless Blaine hit him, made a lot easier by that encounter in the locker rooms. Tina and Mercedes began to giggle into each other's shoulders, so he quickly schooled his face into an impassive expression, delving his hand into the bowl of chips again.

"Well, he boxes, so probably." Mercedes wolf-whistled, prompting more laughter from Tina and Rachel, while Kurt flushed.

"Sooo…" Kurt looked at Mercedes, who had leant her head on his shoulder and was gazing up at him with pleading eyes, matched by Tina and Rachel on the other side of the bed.

"… What?"

"Do you like him?" Rachel burst out, unable to contain her curiosity any longer; bouncing on her mattress. Kurt's answering blush answered their question; and they all emitted loud squeals and bright giggles, causing him to cover his face with his hands, embarrassed but hiding a smile.

After a few minutes of all three girls begging him for more details, he gave in.

"Okay! Okay, fine, I… I like him, okay? Happy now?" He lowered his hands and mock glared at all of them, feeling a rush of joy at admitting it out loud all the same.

It felt somehow more real, in the best possible way, to have his friends squealing and teasing him about the guy he liked, and he felt an almost painful thrill at how normal it felt, how easy it was.

For the first time since coming out to his uncle, Kurt felt like he was normal.

Like it didn't matter that he liked boys and not girls, it didn't matter that he liked clothes and fashion and facials, it didn't matter that his favourite movie was Moulin Rouge. It didn't matter. He was just Kurt.

"So?" Kurt jumped a little, startled from his happy reverie to find three expectant faces staring at him intensely.

"Um… so?"

"So, why do you like him?"

"I… isn't it obvious?" He asked, puzzled. Blaine was… Blaine. Tina squealed again, but thankfully a little quieter than the last few (he didn't think his ear drums could've taken much more).

"Well, yeah, but… come on, just tell us, please?"

"He's… But he's _Blaine_; you don't have to explain liking Blaine! He's just… lovely and polite and gentlemanly, and he pulls out my chair for me when we go for coffee and he always asks how I am when he sees me and I'm pretty sure he carries a handkerchief in his pocket, and he holds doors open. And he's sweet, he has the most amazing smile I've ever seen and when I talk he looks like he's actually interested, like he really cares about what I have to say and then he just gets it, he doesn't need everything to be explained, and he knows who Patti LuPone is, and he knows all the words to "Come What May" and he can sing and he's just… Blaine." He gestured with his hands helplessly, a flush creeping up his neck as he realised just how much he'd been gushing, and cleared his throat.

"He also has curly hair." He blurted, before folding his hands in his lap and forcing the words to stop before he embarrassed himself any further.

"That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard." Tina proclaimed after a few seconds of slightly tense silence, and Kurt looked up to find three sets of heart eyes staring at him.

"Um."

"Oh my god you guys are the cutest!" and he was buried under another pile of hugs, and the topic of conversation moved onto yet more attractive actors, and fashion and trends and products, as they talked well into the small hours of the morning over the movie.

Tina fell asleep first, Mercedes quickly following her as they snored softly, and Rachel and Kurt continued talking in quiet voices about dreams and New York and Barbra.

* * *

><p>Blaine went out with Jeremiah twice, just for coffee. They talked, he was nice enough, and although they weren't interested in exactly the same things, there was enough middle ground that the conversation flowed easily.<p>

But the third time Jeremiah asked, Blaine turned him down.

For one thing, he kept having the recurring thought of what Kurt would most likely have to say about Jeremiah's hair.

For another, Jeremiah wasn't really out, and Blaine, to be blunt, did not care enough to wait for him to get comfortable, nor was he going to be that guy who was always introduced as 'a friend' although he was so much more. He wanted to be someone's boyfriend, not someone's 'friend-who-I-like-to-kiss-when-no-one-is-looking'.

And then there was Kurt.

It all came back to Kurt, in the end, whether it was when he suddenly found himself comparing the (really quite boring, dull, unchanging) shade of Jeremiah's eyes to Kurt's, or when he found himself about to say what Kurt would have worn had he been there, or when he started wondering which cookie Kurt would like to eat, or when he nearly chose a table by the window because he thought Kurt would prefer it.

It was around then that he realised he was hopelessly in love with his best friend.

* * *

><p><strong>Heya everybody! Sorry for the delay, I had exams, but hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner!<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for all of the story alerts, favourites and reviews, I squeal and covet every single one of them :)**

**And as always a HUGE thank you to my very wonderful and patient and amazing beta who I neglected in my first upload of this chapter because I am a terrible friend I LOVE YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH! XD**

**Please review! XD**


	11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Kurt had always been an early riser. This came in handy when he woke before all three girls the morning after their sleepover, giving him the opportunity to slip off the bed and into that bathroom down the hall. Dressed, with the concealer touched up and cuts and bruises hidden, he emerged from the bathroom and only to find himself faced with a middle-aged man in silk pyjamas. Kurt blinked at him for a moment, face flushing for some inexplicable reason, while the man seemed to evaluate him with a piercing gaze, before breaking into a wide smile and holding out a hand.

"You must be Kurt! My name is Leroy, we've heard so much about you from our darling Rachel! I absolutely _adore_ your scarf!" Feeling slightly dazzled, Kurt shook his hand numbly.

"Um, thank you…"

Leroy beamed at him before moving past Kurt and jauntily striding into the bathroom.

Shaking his head to try and clear it, Kurt returned to Rachel's bedroom with a slightly bemused expression, to find all three girls still asleep. Too restless to sit still, he began to wander around the room, quietly examining Rachel's belongings with curiosity. It was all very…_ Rachel_.

Even the digital clock, simple with a black screen lit by glowing blue numbers and a date, screamed 'Rachel owns this', though that might have had more to do with the pink stickers covering it than the actual clock itself.

He ran his fingers over the smooth glass a few times, curious, as the only clocks in his house were the one on the microwave, the antique one in the attic and his round, clunky alarm clock in his bedroom.

It was only about eight o'clock in the morning. Kurt caught sight of the date underneath the numbers and _oh,_ oh, everything made so much more sense now because Kurt _realised_. He understood.

Kurt knew exactly why, when his father returned from his business trip, his beatings would continue to get steadily worse and more frequent.

He knew exactly why.

He knew why the number of beer bottles had increased suddenly, and would continue to do so, why the empty boxes of pain killers were piling up, why he had to go and restock his first aid kit, why he came home to find things broken more and more often.

Why his own gut was clenching tighter and tighter, like a spring waiting for release, why he woke up in tears, why he was finding it harder to face going up to the loft and its reminders.

It was his mother's birthday in nine days.

* * *

><p>Blaine wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to face Kurt with his rather new found knowledge that he was falling for the boy, <em>hard<em>, but the matter was rather taken out of his hands when Kurt showed up by his locker looking rather apprehensive and clutching two coffees.

"Kurt?" He turned towards the other boy, unable to stop the surge of affection as Kurt chewed his bottom lip nervously.

"Um… I, uh, I brought you coffee. Medium drip, right?" Blaine blinked at him, before taking the cup gratefully, a large smile spreading across his face at the thought of Kurt getting this for him; the thought of Kurt knowing his coffee order, and he realised as he took a sip, right down to his fondness for cinnamon flavouring.

"Yeah. Thank you." He answered softly, watching as Kurt's face slackened with slight relief.

"Um… so, I wanted to apologise." Whatever Blaine had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that, and his expression must have shown as much, for Kurt quickly continued. "I haven't been that good a friend lately… it's just been a little, um, stressful at home recently… but I'm sorry." Blaine could feel himself softening, melting at Kurt's words completely and just like that, what little resentment that had lingered over the weekend dissipated.

"Hey, that's completely understandable; you don't have to be sorry… only, maybe next time you could tell me? I got a bit worried." Blaine admitted sheepishly, and Kurt's eyes widened, guilt flashing across his face.

"Yes, I'm so sorry, Blaine, I-" Blaine held up a hand, feeling lighter than he had in weeks and completely unable to stop smiling.

"Kurt. It's fine. Okay?" Kurt stared at him, before his lips curved up into a matching smile.

"Okay." He breathed, nodding as his smile grew brighter. Blaine grinned back, before with a smirk, he held out his arm. "Shall we proceed to homeroom, Mr Hummel?"

Kurt burst into laughter, face scrunching up as Blaine gazed at him, before slipping his hand into the crook of Blaine's elbow tentatively, still grinning widely.

"We shall, Mr Anderson."

* * *

><p>Kurt struggled not to close his eyes and just give up as yet another punch landed on his shoulder, sending him slipping backwards a little bit. Unlike the last time, he didn't bother surging forwards again, just watched as the fists kept flying, avoiding the harsher ones but almost purposely letting the rest land in various places on his torso and arms.<p>

His forearms were raised in front of his face, blows glancing off them when he could manage it. His father's face was flushed an ugly red, his eyes bloodshot and glazed over, his feet stumbling and gaze unfocused; punches getting sloppier and easier for Kurt to cave his body around to lessen the impact by the minute.

On the occasions when Kurt didn't pass out after beatings, his father would usually just punch until he couldn't see anymore, or until he fell over, but sometimes he would just pause and Kurt, paralyzed, would stay where he was, frozen, until his father suddenly seemed to notice that he was there and either shouted at him to 'get the fuck away' or started punching again.

This was one of those beatings where his father had been talking to himself, had suddenly noticed Kurt and started shouting at him, before resorting to blows.

Another fist caught the edge of his ribs, a booted foot connected with his shin one last time and then he was screaming at him to go away, to get out of his face, to go die, to go hang himself, just go away!

Kurt went.

He went and swallowed the necessary painkillers, wiped on more cream and oils, debated for a while before deciding that the long, bleeding gash on his shin really _did _need a bandage and reluctantly binding it, and then he went into the loft.

He didn't speak, this time.

He just curled up on the ottoman, hands folding one of her shawls between his hands, pushing it up to his nose so he could breathe her faint smell in, and he just lay there.

His mother would have been… thirty-six, had she still been alive. It would have been her thirty-sixth birthday in two days, had she not died in that car crash, that car crash that Kurt was in but didn't die when she did. The car crash where he came out with a long scar across the top of his head and three more over his shoulder, and she didn't come out at all.

* * *

><p>"<em>Maman, où nous allons<em>_?"_

"Mama, where are we going?"

"_Quiet, Kurtie, let Mama drive-"_

"_But Mama__, it's very dark. I don't like it, mama! Where are we going?""_

"_Baby, please don't talk, just for five minutes, okay?"_

_Kurt fell silent, pouting at his mama in the front seat as she turned back to the road, a frown creasing her forehead._

_He didn't understand what was happening. He'd been on the sofa, watching cartoons in his pyjamas with his juice bottle still clenched in his hand despite having been empty for at least thirty minutes. He could hear the raised voices of his parents, but he wasn't listening to them. It was scary when his mama and daddy shouted at each other, but they made up quickly and he knew not to go in._

_But this time it was different; this time mama came in, angry, and grabbed him almost roughly._

_He lost his juice cup in his surprise; trying to work out where it had gone as mama stuffed her feet into her wellies, grabbed her car keys and shouldered the door open._

_She buckled him into his car seat, shushing his questions as his daddy followed them out of the house, still red-faced and angry. Kurt shrank back into his seat as his mama slammed the door and turned to face her husband. Their shouts were muffled through the glass, but loud enough that Kurt clamped his hands over his ears, drew his knees up and clenched his eyes shut, praying for it to finish soon._

_His mama had gotten in the car, and they had driven off, leaving daddy still shouting after them on the street._

_But now his mama was still driving; thin and pale in the front seat, and she wasn't answering his questions, and her lips were all thin and barely there and he didn't _like_ it and he wanted to go _home_._

"_Mama-" He began again, and his mama's head finally turned to look at him, the glow of another car's headlights silhouetting her blonde hair around her face and the lights were getting brighter and brighter and suddenly there was a shock, a jolt like the world had suddenly slipped off its axis and then there was pain and screaming and metal and rain pattering somewhere and voices talking, loud and insistent and there were more bright lights and pain and loud, squealing noises and Kurt could still see his mama, but she wasn't his mama anymore she was limp and slack-faced and there was red running down the side of her face and her eyes were dull and everything _hurt_-_

* * *

><p>Kurt opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the darkness, chest heaving and sending aches flashing along his ribs and up his spine as he struggled to breathe through the thick feeling in his throat.<p>

He hadn't thought of the actual crash for months now, but he was used to it occasionally cropping up in his nightmares, haunting his unconsciousness with ruthless intensity. With a quiet sigh, he rolled onto his back, sigh turning into a harsh gasp when his bruises throbbed.

He stared up through the gloom, the shape of the rafters vaguely discernible in the darkness, and he thought.

His parents had argued more and more as he had grown up, though about what he didn't know. From what he could tell from the hazy, half-remembered arguments he had actually heard as a child, something about his father caused mama to plead and beg, with tears running down her face, before anger flashed in her eyes and her sobs turned to shouts.

He wished he could remember what it was that his father had so stubbornly refused to budge on. But he didn't know.

All he knew was that that night, his mama appeared to have reached her breaking point, had snapped, scooped him up and tried to leave; only to die bare minutes into their journey when a truck slammed into their tiny car, killing her instantly.

And Kurt had, upon being released from the hospital after two weeks in intensive care and still sporting a heavy grey brace for his shoulder (which he thought still had some metal pins in it, holding the bones together, although he wasn't 100% sure about that), and had been returned to the place his mother had been trying to leave. To his father.

His father had barely looked at Kurt, but that was okay because Uncle Burt had been there, and his grandmother and various relatives, all milling around the house and talking in sombre whispers as they organised things and sorted out funeral arrangements and flowers and food and papers.

But after the funeral, all the people left, his aunt leaving with a soft kiss to his forehead and a whispered "be brave, KK", his grandmother, Uncle Burt… they all went home, and Kurt was left alone with his father.

Kurt soon figured out that 'daddy' was gone, completely gone, and this man, this new man… he was not Kurt's 'daddy', but his father, and only in the biological sense of the word.

Kurt, after an entire day without food, had traipsed through to the living room, where his father was watching TV with the empty bottles that would soon become a warning scattered across the pillows, and asked for food.

His father had punched him, sending Kurt's small eight year old body tumbling to the floor, where he lay in shock, cheek throbbing and unable to believe that the man he had trusted, who had taught him to ride a bike and had used to swing him up in his arms and had tried to play football with him even when Kurt hadn't want to, had just _hit_ him.

But he had.

And he continued to do so, from then on, and Kurt learnt.

He learnt to take care of himself; how to work the microwave and the oven and the kitchen utensils with only a few mishaps (a scald across his shoulder from where the beans he had been cooking had fallen off the unsteady hob, countless plasters on his fingers and hands from where he'd been chopping and had missed the vegetables, a couple of extra bruises from pulling down heavy objects). He learnt how to set his own alarm in the mornings, to get himself up and out of the house and to school.

He learnt how to apply bandages and creams, which painkillers worked best for him, which were cheapest, what was most affordable. He learnt how to get money from his father's credit card, knew that his father blindly signed all bills that came to their house with the same mechanical efficiency with which he went to work as a shop manager who did nothing but sit behind the counter all day and occasionally work the till, earning enough income to buy more beer, enough for Kurt to scrape by with the added aid of his own wages from Burt and child support cheques that came regularly to the house because of his father's single parent status. Sometimes his father got to those first, but Kurt learnt to get up early and get to the post first, weeding out the useful letters and leaving the bills and notices.

He learnt what empty bottles meant, he learnt what different TV shows meant, he learnt that often Wednesdays were bad days, but he didn't know exactly why. He learnt that Mother's Day, his Mama's birthday, their anniversary, the day she had died and sometimes Thanksgiving or Christmas were bad times. Times when the bottles increased and the TV got trashier and trashier and the punches got harder and harder.

He learnt to survive.

* * *

><p>"I'm home!" Blaine called, his voice echoing in the empty hallway for a few moments as he slipped his shoes off, before the tap of his mother's shoes sounded in the hallway.<p>

"Blaine, honey, how was your day?" She beamed at him, reaching up to give him a hug – as she was one of the very few people Blaine was taller than.

"Good. Where's dad?" He pecked her on the cheek and followed her into the kitchen, humming happily when he saw the cookies on the counter top, but she slapped his hands away, tutting.

"Ah ah, Blaine, not before dinner. He's still at work."

Blaine pouted at her, but drew back his hand obediently. You did not cross Julia Anderson, especially when she was in her kitchen. Moving through the kitchen to perch on one of the barstools, Blaine propped his chin up on his hands and watched with a fond smile as his mother bustled around.

It was a tradition that he and his mom had formed when he'd transferred back to public school: everyday when Blaine came home from school he would hang around the kitchen for a while, catching up with his mom.

"How was your day?"

She flashed a smile at him, before bending down to fiddle with the dials on the oven; answering half over her shoulder. "Good. I finished that book I was telling you about, remember?"

"The one about the concentration camps in World War Two?" She made a random thoughtful noise. "Was it good?" Blaine prompted, tilting his head as she straightened and joined him at the kitchen island.

"Well, yes, but… god, it just makes you feel ill, doesn't it? The sheer cruelty of those people… But it was good."

Blaine lifted his chin off his hands, considering his mom thoughtfully, eyeing the gleam in her eyes with trepidation.

"There's something you want to say." He stated flatly, but he was unable to stop another fond smile spreading across his face when his mom ducked her head, beaming at him.

"Okay, okay, you got me… Well, there are two things actually, but first: Cooper's coming home!" Blaine froze, blinking at her.

"Wait, what?"

Her face dropped instantly, a frown creasing her face into an expression of concern. "You're not excited?"

"Uh… we didn't really, um, part on good terms…" Blaine admitted sheepishly, running a nervous hand over his hair. 'Not good terms' was one way of putting it, they'd parted with a huge argument that had involved Blaine screaming at Cooper about his selfishness and over-critical nature, with Cooper screaming back about Blaine's inability to listen to him and support him, and ended with both of them in tears. That had been three months ago, and they hadn't spoken since.

"I know sweetheart, but he really wants to make it up to you. I hate seeing my boys fight, which is why I invited him. Could you both give each other a chance?" She pleaded. Blaine reluctantly agreed, wary of the idea but not averse to it. Cooper _was_ his brother, after all.

"Oh, and how's Kurt?" Julia turned back to the stove, switching it off just as the timer finished and beginning to bustle about removing the lasagne from the oven. Blaine narrowed his eyes at her back suspiciously, a little smile quirking the corner of his mouth at the mention of Kurt anyway.

"He's fine. He apologised to me today."

"What, why?" His mom had placed the dish on the side to cool, removed her oven gloves and perched herself on the barstool opposite him, staring attentively at his face in an instant, eager to hear absolutely everything. Blaine chuckled at her enthusiasm, but continued.

"He felt he hadn't been a good friend recently, so he apologised for it, and brought me coffee. He knows my coffee order."

Julia smirked knowingly at her son, laughingly dodging the tea-towel he swatted at her, blushing furiously as he did so.

A throat being cleared in the hall quickly halted their playfulness, both of them turning towards the hall in shock.

"I'm home."

Julia went to greet her husband while Blaine watched.

"Hi, dad."

"Hello, Blaine. How's school?"

"Good."

His father nodded at him, pecked his wife on the cheek and left the room, heading for his study. Blaine sighed, and his mom patted him on the back soothingly, expression sympathetic.

"He is trying, Blaine. I know it might not seem like it, but he is."

Blaine smiled sadly at her.

"I know."

* * *

><p>On the morning of his mother's birthday, Kurt woke up suddenly. It was one of those days where your eyes open abruptly and you're completely alert, even if moments before you were unconscious and snoring lightly.<p>

He blinked up at the ceiling for a few moments, eyes aching already and his cheeks stiff again, telling him that he'd been crying in his sleep. Given the nature of his dreams, he wasn't surprised. A strange numbness was spreading through him.

He went through the motions of getting up, washing, dressing, eating in a daze, making the final drive to school mechanically. He managed to get through the day without too much trouble: a few moments in Maths where his teacher had frowned disapprovingly at him, and had reprimanded him at the end of the lesson for his inattention, but that was all.

Just like last year, and the year before that and the year before that and the year before that, right up to that first day when it had been his mother's birthday and she hadn't been alive, he would get through school and he would go to the cemetery. He would sit by her grave all afternoon, and then go home, late, hope that his father would be too inebriated to land a punch, and he would go to bed.

* * *

><p>Blaine walked into the choir room with Rachel yammering in his ear (though thankfully for once <em>not<em> hanging off his arm, as Finn was with them and she was clinging to him instead) and immediately stopped dead, wide eyes trained on the sight in front of him. Even Rachel shut up.

Kurt was lying in the back row, curled up across two of the chairs, fast asleep. All Blaine could do was stare; Kurt's face was for once so relaxed, so peaceful that it almost physically hurt to see him. He looked several years younger, with all of his defences down, and somehow smaller than he normally appeared.

Hesitantly, Blaine crossed the choir room and quietly sat in the chair next to his friend, lowering his bag to the floor quietly while Rachel and Finn stood by the piano, watching.

He leaned closer to Kurt, noticing the way his mouth was slightly parted, but his breathing was almost nasal, the way his eyelashes fanned out across his skin. The way those eyelashes were wet, and clumped together, and his cheeks were stained and slightly blotchy.

Kurt had been crying.

"Kurt? Kurt." Gently, Blaine shook Kurt's shoulder, a small smile spreading across his face as Kurt made a snuffling noise and blinked a few times, eyes blearily tracing over the room for a few moments before he suddenly sat up, followed by a grimace that had Blaine reaching out anxiously.

"Oh, Blaine. Ugh." Kurt noticed Blaine with another blink, and then grimaced again.

"Kurt, you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, just… stiff." Kurt frowned again, before trying for a smile. The stretch of his cheeks obviously alerted him to the tears staining his cheeks, because his hands flew up to wipe at his face anxiously, while Blaine finally settled a comforting hand on his arm, just below his elbow. Well, he _hoped_ it was comforting, it was supposed to be, but he'd never really tried to comfort anybody before and even though it felt natural he really didn't know what affect it was having and- Blaine shut himself up and focused on Kurt again.

"Kurt…" He didn't really know what to say, wary of the very… open expression on Kurt's face, defences down from emotion and the fact that he'd just woken up.

"It's just… It's been a bad day." Kurt huffed out a wet, choking laugh, and Blaine's heart constricted.

"Do you… you want to tell me about it?" Kurt sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"It's… it's my mom's birthday." He whispered, and Blaine's heart constricted further, but he didn't say anything. If Kurt wanted to tell him more, he would, and Blaine didn't want to just give him empty words. "She would've been thirty-six." Kurt opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling with a lost expression on his face. Blaine stroked his arm silently. Words, somehow, didn't seem appropriate.

"Why don't you sing about it?"

Both Blaine and Kurt jumped violently, looking up to find Rachel Berry standing in the middle of the floor, hands on her hips, gazing at them both expectantly. A few of the other Glee kids had filtered in while they'd been talking, and they all turned to look at Kurt, expressions curious.

"What?" Kurt asked, straightening in his chair a little and frowning at her.

"Why don't you sing about it? Sing about, or for, your mom? I'm sure she would've appreciated it." Rachel said, remarkably softly for her. Blaine looked back to Kurt to see him still sporting that horribly _open_ expression, mouth slightly parted.

He had a sudden inappropriate urge to kiss him.

"I… okay." Kurt murmured, standing and making his way to the floor, which for once Rachel gave up graciously, tugging Finn over to a seat in the front row. Kurt stood, looking a little lost, before taking a deep breath and turning to murmur something in Brad's ear. The piano player nodded, settling his hands on the keys as Mr Schue entered.

"Oh, Kurt, have you got a number for us?" Mr Schue sounded surprised (given that this was the first time possibly all semester that he'd come into the room to find someone other than Rachel standing there about to sing), but not unpleasantly so. Kurt nodded, a little shakily, before nodding to Brad as Mr Schue seated himself, taking a deep breath.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, _

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life you were only waiting_

_For this moment to arise,_"

Beatles again, but nobody was complaining. It was just as beautiful as his last performance, but in a different way. It was less raw, but no less painful and emotional for it, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks once more, but softened by something, perhaps a memory. Blaine, old memories and lessons from being in the Warblers surfacing, opened his mouth, backing Kurt up with a soft harmony, soon joined by Artie.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

_All your life you were only waiting for this moment to be free,_"

The piano moved into the bridge, Kurt taking a deep breath as his voice swelled. Mr Schue, Rachel and a few of the other more technically proficient glee clubbers joined Blaine in his harmonies, and the touched expression on Kurt's face just made it all the more emotional.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise,_

_You were only waiting,_"

Kurt seemed to be nearing the end, and their harmonies petered out, leaving him to finish the final line alone.

"_For this moment to arise…_"

Their applause was enthusiastic, but muted with respect. Nobody let out a cheer or catcall, just respectful clapping. Kurt gave them a wobbly smile and returned to his seat, some of the tension having fallen from his shoulders.

Blaine smiled at him, and took his hand, smiling wider when Kurt gripped his fingers back tightly in thanks.

* * *

><p>Kurt shivered, wrapping his coat tighter around him as he walked.<p>

He visited his mother's grave three times a year, on her birthday, on the date of her death, and once more on Mother's Day. He usually went with Burt, but on her birthday, he always went alone. He always had done, ever since he was nine.

He knew it had probably been stupid for a small child to go out by themselves, but he had known the bus route back, and the couple who tended the graveyard were nice, always sympathetic to the small boy who came every year to visit his mother's grave. They seemed to appreciate the respect; apparently very few people visited their deceased loved ones in Lima, but for the Hummel's.

On the date of her death and Mother's Day, he brought flowers, but on this day, today he just brought himself. He knew the path through the graves to hers like the back of his hand, but he stepped slowly, eyes tracing over the half-familiar names on the other headstones, until he stopped in front of hers.

_Elizabeth Caitlin Eleryn_

_1974-2003_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_Forever loved_

He traced the lyrics inscribed on her grave with gloved fingers. It had been her favourite Beatles song, and an idea of Kurt's to put her favourite line on her grave. He'd always preferred the line about waiting to be free, but it wasn't about him. It was about her, and she had loved that line.

He'd never found out why.

Silently, he sat on the slightly damp grass, his side to the headstone as he gazed at it, still tracing over the words and numbers with his fingertips, even though he knew the inscription off by heart.

He didn't speak to her, he just sat. He rarely spoke to her grave, he felt no connection to the person who was his mother through this slab of stone, but he kept coming back. This was where she was buried, where he had gotten his last glimpse of her before they lowered the coffin into the ground. His heart had associated _something_ to this place, even if he didn't know what it was.

He sat there until it was dark and his breath was clouding in front of him. He straightened, body stiff with cold and bruises, and touched his fingers to his lips, and then to her grave.

The feeling didn't return to his fingers until he was curled under the covers, nursing one bruise on his ribcage under his arm, which his father had landed as Kurt was running away, betting successfully on his father being too drunk to make it up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"Hey, kiddo!"<p>

Kurt jumped, dropping his coat, as his uncle suddenly burst into the hallway with a frankly alarming amount of energy.

"Uncle Burt! Should you really be up?" He fussed anxiously, but Burt just laughed it off. Kurt's eyes narrowed as they both made their way to the kitchen.

"So what is it that you want to tell me?" He asked, folding his arms as his uncle shifted sheepishly, holding up his hands in a 'got me' gesture.

"Uh… well, I know that these Friday night dinners are kind of a tradition for family, but…"

Kurt's eyes narrowed further, but he didn't say anything.

"I… look, if you don't want them here, then I can call it off, but… I might've invited Carole and Finn." Burt admitted in a rush.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Might've?"

"Okay, I did. I have. And I know I should've asked you about it first, but I honestly didn't plan on it, it just happened." Burt explained earnestly, a hopeful light in his eyes. With a quiet groan, Kurt scrubbed his hand across his face.

He wasn't actually all that bothered about the tradition of Friday night dinners for family being bent to include non family members, as long as he got to spend the night with his uncle he didn't care what they were doing… and he genuinely liked Carole. She'd done a lot for him when Burt had been in the hospital.

Finn was the problem.

Kurt did _not_ know how to talk to Finn.

But looking at his uncle's hopeful face, he felt that maybe he was willing to try. Blaine had said that Finn was a good guy, if a little rough around the edges, so Kurt took a deep breath.

"Okay. I mean it's-it's fine. I… yeah." Uncle Burt appraised his face carefully, taking note of the nerves he could see in his nephew's eyes, but also recognising that familiar determination.

"Thank you. Do you need any help with dinner?" Kurt's eyes widened, looking comically (though no less genuinely) horrified at the thought.

"No, no, it's fine. Go watch the game or something!" Kurt flapped his hands at his uncle, frowning good-naturedly at the belly laugh Burt let out.

"Okay, okay, I'll get out your kitchen." Still chuckling to himself, Burt left the room, smiling happily. Kurt sighed, shaking his head wryly, and got on with dinner.

* * *

><p>Finn was a little bit nervous. Burt had invited him and his mom to dinner, which was really cool. Burt was awesome, and Finn really liked him, but Carole had mentioned offhandedly that Kurt might be there.<p>

Finn was hoping not, because that could make everything _really _awkward. He'd been getting used to seeing Kurt in Glee, but the guy still didn't say much and Finn really didn't get him.

He was complicated, and even Finn could tell there was something painful going on his head, what with the song he'd sung in Glee earlier in the week. Rachel had tried to explain it to him, but beyond the fact that Kurt was missing his mom, he hadn't really got much of her babble. And he could understand Kurt missing his mom. He missed his dad a lot, even though he couldn't actually remember him. He felt oddly sympathetic towards Kurt… but Finn had never been good at talking, much less talking about emotional things.

And Kurt was scarily… clever, his tongue was so sharp and witty that Finn didn't know what to do with himself. That, and he was really really… well, _gay_. Finn didn't know how to handle that. His mom had talked to him about it, and he got that it wasn't wrong or anything, he didn't _think_ that it was wrong, but it was still weird, for a dude to like another dude.

Though, he had to admit that Kurt and Blaine were kinda cute together.

Still, he was nervous about Kurt being there, because this was supposed to be a thing for his new family, hopefully. He knew that Burt and Carole hadn't been dating long, but he was really hoping that something would come out of it. Burt would be a cool dad. But Kurt being there would mess that up: he didn't know how to talk to Kurt, and he doubted that Kurt and Burt really got on that well; they were far too different. He didn't like it when things were awkward, though he seemed get himself into lots of awkward situations, much to his embarrassment.

Though maybe Carole would talk to Kurt about stuff, and it wouldn't be too bad…

Regardless, he didn't have any more time to ponder it because at that moment they arrived, Burt opening the door as they were getting out of the car, having heard the engine.

He greeted his mom with a kiss and Finn with a handshake, grinning at them both as he ushered them in.

"Hey guys, thanks for coming. Kurt's in the kitchen. He said he was done, but you never know with him." Burt laughed, Finn and Carole with him. Finn's laughter abruptly cut off as a familiar, high voice echoed out of the door, its volume increasing as its owner approached.

"I heard that, thank you very much, and I _am_ done." Kurt rolled his eyes, kissing Carole on the cheek and holding his hand out confidently for Finn to shake, which he did so, eyes wide as he took in Kurt's appearance.

He was wearing an apron.

Finn was still trying to process this when Carole packed him off with Kurt - who was _still_ wearing an _apron_ - to help him set the table while Carole and Burt talked in the living room.

"Um… why are you wearing an apron?" Finn blurted, as Kurt opened the drawer to get cutlery. The smaller boy looked at him, distinctly unimpressed.

"So I didn't get food on my clothes…" he said slowly, counting out knives and forks while he watched Finn curiously.

"But you're a guy."

Kurt's expression instantly soured, and Finn's anxiety levels rose.

"Yes, astounding observation there, Finn. I can still wear an apron. Men wear aprons, Finn, even 'manly' men." He snapped, hands flashing up to form quote marks before he grabbed the cutlery and thrust it at Finn, frowning angrily.

"I- okay. Sorry. I didn't mean…" Kurt sighed, leading the way to the dining room as Finn followed, at loss and a little forlorn.

"No, I shouldn't have snapped. Sorry."

"S'okay, dude."

"Please don't call me dude." Kurt said flatly, turning to Finn and crossing his arms as he set the cutlery down on the table, sheepishly meeting Kurt's gaze.

"Look, Finn, I get that you don't like me, and I know we might not have that much in common, but can we please try?"

"Try what?" Finn questioned, confused by the pleading look on Kurt's face.

"To be friends. For Uncle Burt and Carole, at least?"

Finn stared at him, appraising the earnest look on Kurt's face. He really just wanted his uncle to be happy, Finn realised, and he wanted that too, for his mom. So he nodded and shook Kurt's hand again.

"Okay."

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Dinner went surprisingly smoothly, Kurt thought. He'd been pleasantly surprised by Finn's agreement to try and get on, though he had felt a surge of vindictive pleasure at the way Finn seemed surprised by Kurt's interactions with his uncle (it wasn't hard for Kurt to work out that Finn hadn't been expecting their relationship to be as good as it was, because of their differences), and Carole was lovely, engaging him in conversation while Burt and Finn talked football.<p>

They asked the boys about school, and Kurt and Burt talked about the shop. Carole talked about the hospital, Finn and Kurt surprisingly found themselves discussing Mr Schue's lesson plans with shockingly little heat despite their differing opinions, and only mild irritation on Kurt's part because Finn had to have been living under a _rock_ if he didn't know what _Wicked_ was about (and really, he was dating Rachel, surely he'd picked up _something_ from her?).

It was nice.

It was like a family, in a way that not only Kurt but also the other people at the table seemed to find surprising. Kurt couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable around anybody but Blaine, his mother and Uncle Burt, and he revelled in the novelty of it, skipping over the awkward moments when Finn stumbled and lost his tongue, or insulted his sexuality (always by accident, but it still hurt a little) in his sheer enjoyment of discussing his day, talking about everyday occurrences so comfortably.

He didn't know what was going to happen with Carole and Burt, but he hoped it lasted. It was a good thing, that they'd made, and even Kurt who was very pessimistic, could see how good a thing this was.

He only hoped that unlike the rest of the good things in his life, it didn't crash and burn.

* * *

><p><strong>YAY ANOTHER CHAPTER! WITHIN LIKE... A WEEK AND A HALF JESUS CHRIST!<strong>

**Even so this _was_ supposed to be up this weekend, but then it exploded into flashbacks and crying and I may or may not have had a few minor break downs (though one of them was about the dates on Elizabeth's grave, so it was just silly) so that is why it was delayed my lovely reviewers I would give you all fudge and flowers if I could.**

**I'm at my beta's house right now, so I got to watch her edit this chapter. Which was... interesting. She talks to herself. It's hilarious. But thank you to her, because she's lovely and nice and give good hugs.**

**THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU ALL XD**


	12. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was two weeks later that it happened.

Blaine and Kurt had gone out for coffee, not just for tutoring but also to spend time together, Blaine's French_ was_ improving, though Kurt only admitted this reluctantly, and their relationship was growing.

They were getting to know each other; learning the other's quirks and habits; Blaine found that when Kurt was down, he liked to eat biscotti, when he wasn't he was more likely to lecture Blaine on the habits of healthy eating (though he usually still accepted a bite if Blaine offered it). Kurt learnt that Blaine liked to sing Disney songs when he was happy; having caught him humming _Under the Sea_ more than once, much to Blaine's mortification until Kurt exasperatedly joined in to calm his embarrassment.

They were inseparable; all the glee club members and even Mr Schue having all remarked on separate occasions what good friends they were. Kurt was happier as well, his step lighter as various burdens lifted. Burt had been steadily improving on his strictly healthy diet, enforced by both Carole and Kurt, and his father had subsided to maybe a few punches and slurs a day.

Life was, for once, looking up.

* * *

><p>"I accept that she's very talented, Blaine, but I also won't deny that almost every time she opens her mouth I just want to shove a sock in it." Kurt complained, scooping up his bag as Blaine laughed and followed suit. Rachel had finished singing and Mr Schue had declared club to be finished, all of them filtering out and shooting their teacher sympathetic looks as Rachel cornered him by the piano.<p>

"Oh, come on, she's not _that_ bad."

Kurt gave him a look. "She owns a sweater with kittens on it. _Kittens_, Blaine. And worse, she _wears_ it!" Blaine laughed again, and Kurt smiled despite his horror at such a fashion monstrosity.

"Okay, she's a bit… _grating-_"

"That would be putting it mildly." Kurt muttered as they both turned in unison down the hall to where their lockers were; their routine was, by this point, unconsciously in sync.

"-but her heart is in the right place. She does care about us, a lot." Blaine protested, as Kurt sighed.

"Yes, she has a golden, frequently misguided heart, I'll admit. She's also too nosy for her own good, startlingly oblivious despite aforementioned nosiness, has abysmal fashion sense, has an opinion on _everything_ and seems incapable of shutting up." Kurt grumbled, but it was good-natured (mostly), so Blaine just chuckled, reaching up to twist the combination on his locker round.

"Hey, faggy boys."

Blaine jumped, violently flinching out of the way as the fist slammed on the thin metal door of his locker, slamming it shut again as Blaine's heart rate sped up, thundering in his chest like a freight train.

"Karofsky, Azimio." Kurt's voice, quiet and shaky, seemed to echo in the empty corridor as the jocks crowded up to them. Both Kurt and Blaine backed up along the lockers a few steps, until the bullies stopped advancing.

"Can we help you?" Blaine asked, trying not to let his voice betray his anxiety; he had to be strong, had to be brave, for Kurt. Precious, precious Kurt, who was one of the sweetest people Blaine had ever met and yet still suffered so much pain.

"Yeah. Yeah you can. You can take your little cum-dumpster, and leave." Azimio replied, his grin stretching across his face horribly.

"Don't talk about him like that." Blaine snapped, voice hard as anger flashed through him, mingling with his fear in such a dizzying rush that he barely heard Kurt's shocked intake of breath from behind him.

"Why not? It's not like it ain't true, you fags are all the same." Karofsky replied, his grin wavering for a moment into an indecipherable expression, before the smirk was back.

_-"Fags are all the same, in the end." Harsh shouts and jeering laughter, but it's painful and it hurts and his ribs are on fire and _why are they laughing_ how can they _laugh_ when he's on the floor and so is Josh and how can they laugh when they're bleeding and_-

"I said don't talk about him like that!" Blaine yelled, anger driving him forwards so abruptly that Karofsky actually took a step back. Memories and phantom pain were stretching through his mind in splinters and his thoughts could do nothing but spiral, flashing between protecting the boy behind him and memories of how the last time, last time

_-he couldn't do it, he couldn't protect him, he couldn't even do that for his friend and it was _all his fault_ why did he even ask, it was such a stupid idea, Josh could have gone with a girl, Blaine could have stayed home and then they wouldn't be on the ground_-

He came back to himself to find Azimio and Karofsky even closer than before, and Kurt by his side rather than behind him. He was watching the bullies with narrowed eyes, his body taut and thrumming with expectant energy.

"But look at him, little fairy-boy, he's just your little fuck buddy isn't he."

"Yeah, and you know what? We don't want to see that here. Makes us sick. _You're_ sick." Azimio repeated, anger and hate and ignorance, just plain _ignorance_ growing in both of the men's eyes.

"Don't. Talk. About. Kurt. That. Way." Blaine hissed, anger surging up and crowding over his fear for a moment as he surged forwards again, hands shoving at Karofsky's shoulders before he could even process the action.

Karofsky, surprised by Blaine's unexpected movement, actually fell back a step, face slack with shock, before his eyes narrowed again. Blaine's anger drained away at the looks on the jocks' faces, leaving only fear and memories tugging at his consciousness.

"Shut_ up_, cocksucker, or we'll_ make_ you." Karofsky threatened, Azimio cracking his knuckles as Karofsky raised his fist, Blaine barely feeling Kurt stiffen beside him before the knuckles connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards, eyes stinging.

Blinking rapidly, it took him several seconds to get his vision back properly, escaped tears running down his face as he cupped his jaw with a wince, panicked eyes flashing around the still slightly spinning corridor.

He didn't move, once he could see, half-convinced that what he was seeing wasn't real, because the alternative was too huge, too full of so many different implications it hurt his brain to think about, too overwhelming to wrap his mind around.

* * *

><p>Kurt hadn't seen the bullies coming, hadn't been any more prepared for their 'righteous' anger than Blaine had been, but as soon as he recognised their movements, his eyes were narrowed: fixed on their limbs and faces, analysing their eyes and demeanours.<p>

Kurt knew what violent intent looked like. He knew how untrained bodies shifted before they threw punches.

And as soon as Karofsky raised his fist, Kurt's knowledge took over. He wasn't near enough, wasn't quick enough, to stop the first punch from landing with a resounding crack against Blaine's jaw, (judging from the noise, not broken, but Kurt couldn't tell for sure - maybe other people's bones sounded different from his when they broke) but after that he was there.

He caught the next fist against his forearm, barely flinching at the familiar throb, and already moving forwards.

Years of being beaten had taught Kurt, even if he almost never used his knowledge against his father. He was practised at not only dodging punches, caving his body around the point of impact to lessen bruising and simply take it, but also directing movement.

Countless nights of directing his father to bed or into the living room while he tried to knock Kurt out meant that when Karofsky came back for another hit, Kurt knew that if he ducked under the arm and moved closer at the same time, Karofsky would move back, if only because it was unexpected, and he did.

Slowly, taking some punches across his shoulders and forearms and dodging the rest, Kurt edged Karofsky backwards, away from Blaine, eyes fixed on Karofsky's movements with ruthless intensity.

It was only when he heard Blaine cry out again that he realised that his tactics were going to have to change. Risking a glance backwards, he cursed as he saw Azimio approaching Blaine, who was sprawled on the floor, clutching at his ribs.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Karofsky surged forwards, his fist catching Kurt in the gut and knocking the air from him. While Kurt was struggling to regain his head, Karofsky got a few more hits in, but it was, for some reason, the kick that landed on his bandaged shin that snapped Kurt out of it.

His head shot up and within three seconds he had worked out at least four places where he could easily hurt Karofsky. There was no chance of him overpowering the bigger jock completely. But his arms could hurt, though not, he quickly calculated, as much as his legs and feet.

So for the first time in his life, Kurt used his observations to fight back.

* * *

><p>Blaine hadn't been able to do anything other than stare at the scene taking place in front of him. Kurt's entire demeanour had changed in the few seconds he had been blinking away tears.<p>

Now his body was full of movement that was horribly smooth and practised; blocking the punches, dancing out of the way and edging Karofsky away. Away from _Blaine_, who could do nothing but watch as his friend, as Kurt - sweet, lovely, sharp-tongued, violence-hating _Kurt_ - defended himself against flying fists.

He didn't notice Azimio approaching him until another fist caught him in the ribs, sending him crumbling to the floor with a cry, gasping around the pain and still desperately trying to seek Kurt out.

He met his gaze for a brief instant before Kurt turned back to Karofsky, and this time Blaine could see that something about Kurt was different. He wasn't just distracted by Blaine's pathetic cry, but something else…

Intent.

That was what had changed, Blaine realised as he watched open mouthed, Azimio having also noticed and also watching in shock. Previously just trying to defend himself and Blaine, trying to get him _away_, Kurt was now on the offensive.

His first swing was sloppy, unpractised in a way that drove home suddenly how unbearably familiar Kurt's body was with his other movements, but he still hit home, knuckles scraping off Karofsky's surprised cheekbone.

The bully had no time to react to Kurt's punch, however, because he moved on in an instant, his leg cracking out to land just below Karofsky's kneecap. The jock buckled to the floor with a hiss of pain, but Kurt wasn't finished. One final, finishing kick from his other leg to Karofsky's groin had the bully kneeling, hands clutching at his bruised balls, groaning and quite unable to move for the time being.

Kurt whirled around instantly, eyes flying to Blaine's face with such strong concern that it made Blaine's breath catch. Azimio gulped audibly, drawing both boys' attention as he stood there, clearly trying to decide between fight and flight.

On the one hand, Kurt was thin, skinny, maybe half Azimio's size.

On the other, he had seen just as well as Blaine how effectively Kurt had managed to deal with Karofsky, element of surprise or not.

Kurt began to advance, his eyes burning with something like anger, something like triumph, something like… longing, but before he could do anything (and nobody would ever know whether Kurt had been about to speak or just go straight for a punch or kick) a shout echoed down the hall.

"Hey. Back off." Kurt spun around again, eyes narrowed and entire frame defensive as Blaine pulled himself up the lockers to his feet, unsteady with one hand still firmly pressed to his aching ribs.

"Puck," he breathed, when he caught sight of the guy, noticing the majority of the glee club standing behind him, all staring at Azimio and Karofsky with hard, angry eyes.

"Kurt, Kurt it's okay. They're here to help." Blaine murmured, reaching out to lay a hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt flinched slightly, but didn't shrug him off, eyes still darting between the bullies and the glee clubbers.

Karofsky managed to get to his feet, eyes widening in horror when he saw that they were even more outnumbered than before hand. Both he and Azimio exchanged a glance, before beginning to hurry off.

"This isn't _over_, faggots." Karofsky hissed at them as he passed. Blaine surprised all of them, including himself, when he spat at him, but Puck, Finn, Sam and Mike had all reached them by that point, and the two footballers backed down, Karofsky wiping the spittle off his cheek in disgust before walking away with only a slight limp.

A beat of silence passed, while Blaine turned to Kurt. He was pale, shaking slightly and still tense, eyes fixed on Blaine's jaw with a confusingly analytical expression.

"Dude, that was awesome!"

Kurt jumped, looking back to Puck with puzzlement rising in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You just beat up Karofsky, man!" Puck exclaimed, holding up his fist, which Kurt eyed disdainfully before turning back to Blaine, fingers reaching out for his jaw. Blaine and Kurt let themselves be led back to the choir room, Kurt's cool fingers brushing across the fiery patch of pain on his face distracting him to the point that before he realised it, they were all seated in the choir room; Kurt still stroking over his bruised jaw.

"It's not broken," Kurt murmured, and Blaine jumped a little.

"I…"

"Just bruising. It'll hurt for about… two weeks, maybe three, and eating will be a pain. Ibuprofen is the best painkiller for this though, that should help. Here. Do you need water?" The room fell silent as Kurt reached into his bag and without looking drew out a slightly flattened box of pills, looking at Blaine questioningly. Blaine swallowed.

"Uh, no, I don't need water. I… thanks." He accepted the little white pill, chucking it to the back of his throat and swallowing with only minor difficulty due to the dryness of his mouth. After the… incident, he'd been so drugged up that he'd gotten good at swallowing pills, though he hadn't had to take any in a while. Kurt smiled at him tightly, still extremely tense, and slid the box back into his bag.

Before Blaine could process it, Kurt had slid his shirt up to look at his torso, a few of the guys behind him letting out hisses of sympathy when the bruises came into view; three or four round, purpling blotches. It wasn't the worst he'd ever had. He'd live.

Kurt's probing fingers pressed into the blotches, methodically making his way across the left side of Blaine's ribcage and analysing Blaine's face as he did so.

"They're not broken either." Kurt affirmed, finally letting the shirt back down as Blaine stared at him.

"I know," was all he said in reply, before memories of Karofsky's fists connecting surged through his mind, overtaking those of white hospital sheets, bandages and a blank, boring ceiling.

"Kurt, what about you, are you okay?" Blaine blurted suddenly, hands reaching for him. Kurt frowned, fingers sliding along his clothed forearms for a moment before he nodded.

"I'm fine."

"Wait, no, Kurt, I saw Karofsky - he managed to land a few, as well, let me see." Blaine protested, reaching for Kurt's arms, but he drew them back.

"I said I'm fine, Blaine." Blaine dropped his hand, watching his friend carefully, but before he could ask, Sam interrupted.

"But did you see the way he just… three hits! Three hits and he was on the floor! It was so cool!" he burst out, Kurt turning to look bemusedly at Sam's excited face.

"You're getting excited about the fact that Blaine and I just got attacked by two of your teammates, and I beat one of them up? Really?" he asked, and Sam's gesturing arms dropped, expression sheepish.

"Sorry dude. You okay?"

Kurt sighed. "Fine. Please don't call me dude."

"Kurt, Blaine, we have to go to Principal Figgins."

They all turned to find Rachel standing there, with Tina, Mercedes, Santana and by proxy Brittany, and, confusingly enough, Quinn behind her, all wearing identically furiously indignant expressions. Blaine opened his mouth to reply, but Kurt beat him to it.

"No. There's no point."

"What?" Mercedes burst out, staring at her friend in horror. "Of course there's a point, Kurt, we have to!"

He looked up at her, eyes hard and expression stonier than Blaine had ever seen it.

"Really," he replied evenly, "because I think it'll turn out just like the last time. It's a waste of time; they'll look into it because they have to, and when we have no concrete evidence they'll let it go without doing a damn thing."

"What! Evidence - we've got evidence, Kurt, just look at Blaine's face!" Kurt's gaze flickered to Blaine's for a moment, before he shrugged a little.

"I doubt anything less than a bruise in the shape of a boot print or an outright confession will suffice. Those guys have thousands of friends. 'Oh no, he was at my place at that time, honest'. Who are they going to believe, them? Or two gay kids, even if you guys do back us up?" Rachel looked at loss for words, but determination was still etched into every line of her face; she wasn't nearly ready to let it drop yet.

"They'll believe them. Because that's the easiest option, the option with less paperwork, the least hassle. Neither of us want to go through all of that fuss just for it to come to nothing again, alright? So please, drop it." Blaine pleaded, eyes searching his friends' faces and feeling his heart sink in weary resignation when he could find no signs of any them backing down.

"We can at least do something! Get them to ease off you both; you've had more slushies in the last week than the rest of us combined-"

"There's no _point_!" Kurt's yell burst from him, and he was abruptly on his feet with anger flushing in his face. "There is no. Freaking. _Point_." He hissed, fists clenching by his sides spasmodically until Blaine reached out and grabbed them, smoothing over the taunt tendons on the backs of his hands with the pads of his thumbs until Kurt relaxed, eyes closing and breath escaping him in a harsh burst.

"I… okay. Fine. We won't go to a teacher, okay Kurt?" Tina mumbled, shooting questioning looks towards her friends, but none of them protested.

"Thank you," Blaine replied when it was clear that Kurt wasn't going to. He was still standing with his hands resting in Blaine's, eyes shut and breathing evenly. Slowly, the red flush began to drain from his skin, leaving it as pale as ever.

"But, Kurt… if you could fight like that, why didn't you ever do it before?" Typically, it was Puck who had voiced the question, causing Kurt's eyes to flash open, wide and panicked. Blaine anxiously gripped his suddenly tense hands tighter, cursing Puck silently as he watched Kurt's face carefully.

"That's a good point, why _didn't_ you fight back before? They would probably have left you alone if you'd done that from the beginning…" Finn commented, brows knitting together as slowly the question took hold in everyone's minds and they all turned to stare at Kurt.

He stared back, frozen, hands still stiff and unmoving in Blaine's, eyes skipping from one expectant face to another in rapid succession.

"I…" Kurt's eyes flickered back to Blaine's face, before he tore his hands from his and stumbled backwards towards the door. "I need to go."

"Kurt!" Blaine reached out for him, but a sudden flaring pain up his sides prevented him from chasing after the boy as he ran.

* * *

><p>"No, but <em>why<em> didn't he fight back?"

Blaine let out a loud groan of frustration, turning to look at Finn despairingly.

"Why do you think, you idiot?" Mike snapped, earning himself a surprised, but grateful, look from Blaine. "It's easy for you to say, you're a footballer. You're big enough to hold your own, you're popular enough that chances are you'd be fine. Kurt? He's small, dude, however strong he is. You really think that if he fought back, Karofsky and Azimio and the rest would leave him alone? They'd just chase after him harder, Finn, and you know it."

Finn still looked confused. "But-"

"Look," Blaine jumped in, "I don't know exactly why he didn't fight back before, but I know that when I was in a similar situation, I just wanted it to stop. I just kept my head down and hoped they'd pass me by, hoped that they wouldn't notice me," he managed to get out with difficulty, struggling to let those memories, so close to the surface, rise up and take over him again. "Fighting back isn't an option, not for us. They hate us, all of us, even you, for refusing to be normal. It's hard enough to keep your head up high and carry on being who you are, never mind actually physically fight back." Blaine murmured, his brow furrowing as his mind whirred.

"What I want to know is how he even knows how to fight…" Blaine mumbled, mostly to himself, as the Glee club fell into quiet contemplation around him.

* * *

><p>"Oh darling, I was starting to wonder where you'd got to- <em>Blaine<em>!" His mother's warm words of welcome quickly turned into a yelp of horror when he raised his head and she caught sight of his face.

Instantly she was by his side, cool fingertips fluttering anxiously over his face as he allowed her to lead him through to the kitchen and sit him on one of the bar stools.

"Blaine baby, what happened?" She fussed until he gently caught her hands and held them.

"Mom, calm down, I'm okay. I'm okay." She paused, eyeing his face, but listening.

"Honey, you're _not_ okay, look at your face-"

"Mom! It's just a bruise, okay?"

"Blaine Anderson, you tell me what happened right this instant, and don't tell me it was nothing because that's complete trash and we both know it." She removed her hands from his, crossing her arms across her chest as she gazed at him severely. He held his hands up, smiling a little and then quickly aborting the expression when his jaw gave a little throb.

"I'm not going to hide it mom. I promised, remember?" he told her gently, and she nodded, but continued to stare at him expectantly until he dropped his hands with a sigh.

"We were leaving the choir room, me and Kurt-"

"Kurt and I," Julia corrected automatically, earning herself a fond eye-roll from her son.

"Okay, _Kurt_ _and I _were leaving the choir room together, after Glee, and we normally go back to our lockers after to get our stuff instead of dragging our bags all the way into the choir room, you know? Anyway, some jocks cornered us there. Called Karofsky and Azimio, I think…" He trailed off a little, fidgeting, but continued when he felt his mother's comforting hand smoothing over his cheek.

"Anyway they… they said some things, about Kurt, mostly, and I got angry 'cause… god, nobody should be allowed to talk about him like that, _nobody_." Blaine's eyebrows lowered over his narrowed eyes, momentarily distracted by the anger that flashed through him at the thought of those words being used in connection with Kurt. He missed his mother's small smile at his protectiveness, and continued as she smoothed out her expression once more.

"Anyway, I got angry and… provoked them, I guess… one of them punched me. In the face." Blaine murmured, eyes dropping as he resolutely tried to get through the story. He'd meant what he'd said earlier. He was going to keep that promise he'd made to his mother, in tears by his hospital bed, to never, ever keep it from her again. He wasn't going to put her through that, not again.

"But… mom, Kurt, he…"

"Is he okay?" Julia asked, more concern furrowing her face as she brushed Blaine's hair back, smoothing back the half-gelled strands.

"I… I think so. I don't know, he wouldn't let us look… he fought back mom. He- three hits, and Karofsky was on the floor! Azimio backed off kicking me then-"

"Kicking!" Julia repeated, eyes widening. "You didn't say anything about kicking, Blaine!" she cried, hands falling from his face as reluctantly he slid his shirt up to reveal the bruises on his ribs.

"They're not broken either, mom. They're not nearly as bad as… I can still breathe fine and move. They'll be fine in a few weeks…" another frown crossed his face, not escaping the notice of his mother, who cupped his cheek once more.

"What is it honey?" She prompted gently, as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"Kurt… how did he know how to fight? It wasn't just luck, mom, you should've seen him… it was like he'd done it before. But, Kurt- Kurt's not violent, not even for sports or anything, he _hates_ that kind of thing. He nearly ran away from me when he found out I boxed, but he can do that? I don't get it… and he- he was so…"

"So what, sweetheart?" Julia prompted him once again after several seconds of silence.

"So… I don't know. But he looked at my jaw, and my ribs, and gave me painkillers that he had in his bag, and told me that it'd stop hurting in about two-three weeks… how would he know that? How?" Julia said nothing, ideas whirling through her brain as her son gazed at her, pleading for answers that even if she had them, weren't hers to give.

"I don't know, Blaine. I just don't know. Maybe one day, Kurt will tell you… just, stay with him, Blaine. I don't know this boy, but I know that he needs you, and you need him."

"Mom, I-" Blaine spluttered, his face flushing instantly as his mother smiled at him endearingly.

"You do, Blaine. I haven't seen you smile so much since before…" he sobered instantly, gaze dropping to the table top for a moment as another memory flashed before his eyes

_-"Wipe that little smug faggot-y smile off his face, go on!" Pain, lightening pain, god Blaine didn't know it was possible to hurt this much and why won't it just stop, surely he's paid enough for it now, and he wishes somebody would make it _stop_, please_-

"Blaine?" He jerked his head up to find his mom gazing at him with a concerned expression on her face, hand still cupping his cheek.

"Sorry, I tuned out there. What were you saying?"

"Blaine-" she started, but before she could finish the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut interrupted them.

"Julia?" His father's voice called down the hall, and Blaine watched as his mother bit her lip, glancing towards the hall and then back to Blaine again, before her husband rounded the corner.

"Hello, dear." Blaine watched again with curious eyes as his mother went to greet his father, before his attention was taken up suddenly by the appearance of another person.

"Hi mom!" Cooper gathered his mother up in his arms exuberantly, practically bouncing on his toes even as he hugged her, while Blaine's eyes had widened, barely even noticing his father's gaze upon him as he took in the sight of his brother. His hair was still the same, his leather jacket, dark trousers, smart shoes, all the same or similar enough that any differences were completely lost on him.

"Blaine, what happened to your face?" All three of his family members turned towards where he sat at the kitchen island at his father's words: Cooper shocked, Julia worriedly examining his expression, gauging how much he wanted to say, while Andrew was simply staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Uh… couple of jerks at my school." Blaine shrugged noncommittally, heart sinking at the predictable stern look that crossed his father's face.

"Hope you got in a few punches?" he asked, gaze travelling up and down his son with something like displeasure, while Julia glared at him disapprovingly.

"No, sir," he answered quietly, shame rushing through him at his father's nod: dismissive, as if he just expected it.

"Who did it?" Cooper was suddenly in his face, hands on Blaine's shoulders as he examined the bruise with mounting fury burning in his eyes.

"Who did it? I'll fucking _kill_ them, I knew we shouldn't have let you go back to public school!" Cooper was seething angrily, while Blaine just stared at him in shock, half-noticing his mother marching his father out of the room with that frown on her face which meant that somebody was about to get a severe talking to.

"God- Coop, just calm down!" Blaine gently pushed him out of his personal space, which did absolutely nothing towards snapping Cooper out of his glazed over anger.

"Blaine, you have a bruise on your face!"

"Yes, thanks for that Cooper, I had noticed," Blaine answered dryly, instinctively slipping back into their familiar bickering and camaraderie, despite the way they'd parted last time.

"I'll kill them, just tell me who did it, they'll regret the day they ever touched my baby brother, tell me who did it, just point me in the right direction they won't even know what _hit_ them-"

"Cooper, flattering though that is, I'm pretty sure one of them is still going to have bruised balls by next week. They won't come near me again, not if I'm careful." Cooper blinked at him for a moment, momentarily shocked.

"Wait, you kicked one of them?" Blaine was shaking his head before Cooper had even finished his question.

"No. No, I was… I was pathetic, as usual." Blaine said bitterly, continuing before his brother could interrupt. "Kurt was with me, he had Karofsky on the floor in three hits when he saw Azimio was kicking me." Blaine said, the gravity of the fact that Kurt had fought _for him_ once again socking him in the stomach and taking away his ability to breathe for a moment.

"Kurt?" Blaine flushed instantly, his blush darkening when a knowing gleam appeared in Cooper's eyes. "Who's Kurt?"

"He's my friend." He said, dropping his gaze as Cooper sidled closer to him, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

"Uh huh?"

"Yes, Cooper, and that's all we are!" Cooper clasped his hands together, eyes roving over Blaine's face.

"Right. Describe him to me." He ordered, pointing at him. Blaine frowned at the finger by his nose for a moment, before sighing heavily.

"He's… tall, and thin… athletic, but not overly muscle-y, you know? He's got brown hair, and he always dresses fantastically, though I'm not sure how he gets into his jeans some days… he loves Broadway and singing, and fashion. He speaks French, and his voice is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, and when he sings… god I could listen to him singing all day long, it's that beautiful, Cooper. And he's the sweetest, most compassionate man I've ever met, but he's not weak… he's gentle, but he's kind of a bitch too, but his insults are hilarious; he's clever and witty and over dramatic and-"

"You love him." Cooper finished softly, Blaine jolting out of his reverie to find his older brother staring at him with shiny eyes and bizarrely somehow managing to look like a two-year old who'd been promised ice-cream, even with his coiffed hair and leather jacket.

"I can't believe it, my little Blainers is in love. Oh, I might cry." Blaine stared at him for a second as Cooper dabbed at his eyes theatrically, before bursting out laughing.

"God, Coop, I missed you." Blaine chuckled, the words slipping from his mouth almost without his notice until Cooper answered.

"Me too, Blaine. I'm… Listen, about last time, I'm sorry-" Blaine waved him off.

"I am too. Can we just… let it go? We can talk about it properly another time, just… for now, can I just spend some time with my brother?"

"Sure." Cooper breathed, looking positively delighted, and also genuinely touched, at Blaine's proclamation of affection. Blaine grinned at him, quickly vetoing Cooper's excited request for duet and insisting that he couldn't dance with bruised ribs, before they fell to talking; banter passing back and forth with Cooper occasionally slipping in a lewd comment involving Kurt or skin-tight jeans which had Blaine spluttering and swatting at his brother's shoulder as Cooper laughed with glee at having found another way to tease his brother.

* * *

><p>"<em>Thanks for coming with me, Josh. I had fun." Blaine blurted, slightly shy, but Josh just smiled at him.<em>

"_Me too. Thanks for asking me." Josh hesitated for a second, glancing around the gloomy car park, before he darted forwards, pressing his lips to Blaine's right cheek. Blaine froze, a heavy blush creeping up his neck. Josh's lips were warm and slightly damp, probably from the humidity inside the gym, and Blaine could still vaguely feel the shape of them when he drew back._

_He and Josh had agreed to just go as friends, and Blaine knew that this didn't change that, but still. It was his first kiss from a boy, even if it was on the cheek. His hand rose to brush at the spot, a happy grin breaking across his face as Josh flushed, grinning back bashfully._

_They stood there blinking at each other for a few moments, high off sugar and dancing and the fact that they had gone to a dance with a _boy_, something that neither of them had ever dreamed of being able to happen for several years, even if they were just friends._

"_Well, well, well, look what we have here." _

_Both of them froze, whirling around to find several older boys stalking across the parking lot towards them. Josh stumbled backwards a step, closer to Blaine, as they watched the boys approach. They both knew them, Blaine a little more acquainted with their large hands and jeering words than Josh was, but they both knew them. Bullies. Older, bigger, stronger._

"_Hey, it's the fairy-boys." One of them catcalled, laughter echoing around the space as they came closer. Josh and Blaine began to move backwards, to where neither of them knew, but they were surrounded within minutes. Identical sneers and smirks were plastered across all of the guys' faces, all of them slightly drunk, from what Blaine could tell._

"_Hey fags, what made you think you could get away with it?"_

"_Coming here tonight, together, dancing with each other-"_

"_Kissing each other on the cheek."_

"_It's disgusting, you're disgusting. You should just die."_

"_Yeah, faggots, die, die, die!" The words kept coming, floating around the space from various people around the circle, words chasing words in the same loop of ignorant hatred over and over and over again, while Josh huddled into Blaine. Blaine tried to stand up straighter, tried to be brave._

"_It's not wrong. There's nothing wrong with us!" Blaine shouted, snapping, finally unable to take it any longer. The boys stopped jeering, but mocking titters still echoed around the lot, as one of them stepped forward. He wasn't the biggest physically but there was no doubt that he was in charge. Kyle: their ringleader, the one who watched people like Josh, people like Blaine, with burning eyes._

"_Stupid fag, what do you know? You're revolting. You'll burn in hell, you sick, disgusting little creatures. You repulse me." he spat, directly onto Blaine's face._

_Blaine was so surprised by the spittle suddenly oozing down his cheek that he didn't process what happened next. Maybe Kyle gave a signal, maybe one of them just lurched forwards and the others followed suit; inebriated just enough that they would follow anyone. Blaine would never know._

_All he knew was that suddenly there was a fist thwacking into his shoulder, sending his small frame crashing to the ground, his elbows grazing through his shirt and palms tearing, eyes watering as soon as he could breathe again._

_But it didn't stop. _

_More punches came, more kicks; explosions of pain around his head and all over his torso and he was struggling, trying to get out and, and- Josh, he had to try and protect Josh but he couldn't see him and finally he subsided; twitching weakly but otherwise just waiting for it to end, mind spiralling as he realised that he couldn't do it. _

_He couldn't do it, he couldn't protect him, he couldn't even do that for his friend and it was _all his fault_ why did he even ask, it was such a stupid idea, Josh could have gone with a girl, Blaine could have stayed home and then they wouldn't be on the ground, bleeding and nearly broken. He couldn't even hear Josh anymore, over the sounds of their attackers._

"_Fags are all the same, in the end." Harsh shouts and jeering laughter, but it's painful and it hurts and his ribs are on fire and _why are they laughing_ how can they _laugh_ when he's on the floor and so is Josh and how can they laugh when they're bleeding and, god it hurts, it hurts so much, the words somehow still stinging even as they pale in comparison to the physical pain, but still hurting, still needling into his brain and settling themselves there._

"_Wipe that little smug faggot-y smile off his face, go on!" Pain, lightening pain, god Blaine didn't know it was possible to hurt this much and why won't it just stop, surely he's paid enough for it now, and he wishes somebody would make it _stop_, please, please please make it stop-_

"Blaine! Blaine, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay… sshh…" Blaine woke with a strangled cry, drenched with sweat and face streaked with tears. His body heaved, lungs struggling to suck in enough air as he panted, half-fighting against the person who was holding him and not even aware of who it was as he tried to breathe past his gut-wrenching sobs.

Finally, gasping, he fell into Cooper's arms, burying his snot-smeared face into his brother's shoulder as he cried, Cooper gently rocking him from side to side as he shushed him rhythmically.

A gentle hand smoothing over his curls alerted him to his mother's presence, but if anything it only made his tears come faster, guilt washing through him as he realised he'd woken them up.

"M'sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, so sorry, I'm so so sorry-"

"No, baby, don't be silly. Don't be sorry." His mother whispered to him, her words soothing as his tears began to ebb, Cooper's arms still firmly around him, pressing him to his chest and rocking him gently.

"Don't be stupid, B, this is what I'm here for, yeah?" Cooper mumbled into his hair, but all Blaine could do was repeat it; sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

* * *

><p>Blaine woke early the next morning still cradled against his brother's chest, cheeks stiff from tears and hand still fisted in the dark material of Cooper's t-shirt. He gazed at his clenched knuckles in fascination for a few moments, before relaxing his hand and closing his eyes again.<p>

He hadn't had a nightmare that bad for a long time, but something about being attacked again yesterday must have triggered it. He flinched into Cooper as another phantom shout echoed in his head and breathed deeply, settling himself.

He'd be alright. He knew that he would always remember it, always have it crop up in his nightmares occasionally, always think of it when he was low. It was just one of the consequences, just another scar the beating had left behind.

But he'd be alright. He was old enough to be able to get through this without his mother's petting or big brother's cuddles. He would be alright.

But for now, he snuggled deeper into the circle of Cooper's arms, enjoying the comfort of being held close by someone he loved.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Kurt." Kurt jumped; Blaine had seemingly popped up out of nowhere next to his locker.<p>

"Hi, Blaine." Blaine shifted on his feet, smiling a little but with a questioning look his eyes that instantly set Kurt on edge, eyeing Blaine out of the corner of his eye as he shut his locker.

"So, um… I never got to say thank you." Blaine offered up the words hopefully, as if he was afraid that Kurt would reject them. A little confused, Kurt nodded slowly.

"No problem," he shrugged a little, revelling in the fact that the movement caused no more than a familiar dull ache.

"Uh… you never told me you could fight?" Blaine asked tentatively, Kurt feeling his defences rising as he appraised his friend's slightly bruised face.

"I… I didn't know I could." Kurt answered carefully.

"Kurt… I saw what happened. That was practised, whatever you say."

Kurt swallowed dryly, eyes flickering to the floor as he avoided Blaine's gaze. God, it was getting harder and harder to not just collapse into Blaine's arms and spill everything.

Kurt was tired.

So, so fucking _tired_ of it all; tired of the hiding and lying and manipulating, of the way he was forced over and over and over again to push people away when he wanted nothing more than to cling to them as tightly as he could.

But all he did was shrug, still refusing to look Blaine in the eyes because if he did that, he was certain he would break and he couldn't, absolutely _couldn't_ do that. So he ran away, cursing himself for being a coward, for not being strong enough, for being so pathetically weak that he couldn't even save himself, even when he knew how to.

He ran away, away from his friends and Blaine, Blaine with his kind eyes and compassion and support, Blaine who was always there to unwittingly put Kurt back on his feet again every time he stumbled. He ran.

* * *

><p><strong>HELLO MY LOVELIES! Soooo, this was quite an emotional roller-coaster to write, but I hope you all enjoyed it! This is the second longest chapter to date, second only to the Grilled-Cheesus themed one, and yet I wrote most of it in about two days (separate days, cause I was busy haha)... so, I don't know. Let me know what you think!<strong>

**Thank you again to my lovely lovely fantastic beta who puts up with my small over-dependency on semi-colons and persistent inability to spell 'tentatively', and also had to deal with my internet crashing and knowing this chapter was written but couldn't be sent. THANK YOU MY DEAR XD**

**And thank you also for the incredible response; all of the reviews, story alerts and favourites literally make my day, they are my happy drug :D**


	13. Chapter 12

I'd just like to warn everybody: even more angst that usual and it's a little bit more graphic this chapter. If you've been okay with everything so far, you should be fine, but I wanted to warn again, just in case.

* * *

><p>CHAPTER TWELVE<p>

When Kurt got home that day, after defending Blaine, his father was waiting for him.

* * *

><p>He barely made it into school the next day, but he did. Thoughts of 'it's Friday, just one more day' propelled him through the hallways, through the stabbing pain in his left knee and shins, through the swollen heat of his back, through the throbs and aches and twinges.<p>

Through Blaine's questions, through his kind eyes, through the New Directions' inquiring concern.

He got through it, because… what else was he supposed to do?

It was a relief to finally escape to his car, settling back against the upholstery for a moment with his eyes closed, mind silently taking an inventory of injuries and levels of pain, methodically working down his body until he was satisfied he could drive without another dose of painkillers.

Jamming the key into the ignition, he pulled out of the lot, eyes fixated on the road in front so he wouldn't have to see Blaine standing by his own car, forlornly following Kurt's with mournful eyes.

* * *

><p>Kurt shut the door with a quiet click, turning with a wary expression already on his face, his breathing loud in his ears and echoing in through his head.<p>

His eyes automatically flickered over to the living room, half-hoping to see the back of a familiar head, but the room was empty. His gaze travelled back over to the hall, taking in the relatively small number of bottles, before he carefully made his way to the stairs.

He climbed them with difficulty; stopping to rest halfway up, sweat beading on his forehead. He paused once again when he finally reached the top, leaning his head on the wall as frantically tried to catch his breath. He opened his eyes and straightened, only to find his father standing on the landing, a half-empty whisky bottle dangling from his hand, staring at Kurt with sunken, bloodshot eyes.

Kurt jumped violently, biting his tongue so hard it started to bleed, and froze, barely breathing, eyes locked on the figure of his father but never meeting his half-lidded gaze.

How long they stood there, staring at each other, Kurt didn't know. Time seemed to freeze, bending around them in their own personal bubble, before his father shifted slightly and time snapped back into place.

"Where've you been?" His father's voice was quiet, but Kurt still jumped again, finally meeting his gaze in surprise and sticking there, unable to look away. His father rarely spoke to him. Shouted, yes, mumbled, cursed, screamed, berated, yes. But spoke?

That rarely happened.

"School." He cleared his throat, answering just as quietly as his father, body tense and thrumming with urgency as his thoughts scrambled to try and figure out what was going on.

"I meant yesterday, fag. Yesterday when you came home late, again. Where've you been sneaking off to, little cum-bucket, huh?" Kurt stuttered, his breath catching in his throat as his father took a step forwards, swaying slightly on his feet.

"G-Glee club," he mumbled. His father contemplated him, his expression slack and loose and terrifyingly unreadable.

"Glee club? That singing group? The one for pansies like you?" Kurt didn't reply, still trying to gauge what the _hell_ was happening. His father hadn't _spoken_ to him for months.

"Why am I not surprised," his father scoffed, swigging from his bottle and shaking his head. Droplets of whisky leaked from his mouth, trailing down the crags in his worn face and staining his chequered shirt. "You always were messed up. Wrong in the head. Always wanting to play dress up or shit like that, not like a proper boy. Jesus." His father shook his head again, taking yet another swig. Kurt flinched, but didn't speak, dropping his gaze to the floor.

What he saw there made his blood freeze, the temperature around him actually seeming to drop a few degrees as he stared.

Clothes.

A _woman's_ clothes.

His eyes flashed up to his father, anger burning through him suddenly.

"What the fuck did you _do_?" he yelled, fists clenching as his eyes flickered over the scattered remains of his mother's wardrobe; torn dresses and-

Shawls. Kurt's nails dug into his palms, so hard he bled but he didn't care, he didn't _care_ because those were his mother's shawls, the shawls that he had taken up-

No.

No no no no no no-

Kurt only realised he was saying it out loud when his father came at him, discarding his bottle -amber liquid seeping into the patterned material, flowers in reds and whites losing their colour as the alcohol stained them - and shoved at him, yelling at him to 'shut the fuck up' but for once, for once Kurt _didn't care_.

Kurt screamed, his fist flying towards _him_; towards the man who had taken these things and- and that was the clock, the antique, ancient clock with wood worn by time, with ebony hands that smoothed over its face: shattered, with its arms bent, small bronze pieces of machinery scattered across the carpet alongside the glass.

His father staggered back, shocked, as Kurt ran at him, tears streaming down his face and he was shouting, incessantly, and he didn't even know what he was saying, didn't know and didn't _care_ because _he_ had gone up there, up to that one place where he'd always felt safe and he'd ruined it, just like he'd ruined everything else.

Kurt had never hated his father more than in that moment.

His father regained his composure, fists flying back again and his leg kicking out, but Kurt was relentless, nails scratching and _how could he how could he do this_ - more shawls, torn and scattered, twisted and ruined by dark splashes of drink - another punch across his shoulders as he jerked his head out of the way, instincts protecting his face but fuck that, fuck the instincts telling him to run away, because _this man has ruined everything that was ever good in his life_ and Kurt _hates him._ He punched back, knuckles giving under the pressure - the chaise, how the hell did he get the chaise down, but he did, of course he did; stuffing and carpeted material, splintered wood, and-

The sight of the lamp was what finally broke him.

On the floor, on the floor like everything else. The light bulb was still intact, but the wooden base had broken off, leaving jagged ends. The tassels, glued to the edge of the lampshade, were ripped off, trailing pieces of papering from the lampshade itself; which was still mostly stretched over the wire frame, but bent out of shape.

Kurt's arms fell to his sides, his brain not even processing his movements enough to tell him what it was that they had been doing, as he stared at the lamp, tears spilling down his face relentlessly.

His father barely noticed that Kurt wasn't fighting back anymore, and heaving himself forwards once more, he overestimated the force and Kurt fell backwards, stumbling until he was teetering on his feet.

One more step back and-

Air whooshing through his ears as he

What was he doing

He was

Falling, that's right. That's what the feeling was, he was falling and

Bursts of physical pain assaulted his senses but his brain was refusing to accept the signals, refusing to acknowledge what the horrible 'crack' was as his arm slammed into something; too wrapped up in his own horrifying pain.

Everything was broken.

* * *

><p>"-it, shit, come on, wake up!"<p>

Kurt blinked, heard a sigh of relief and felt a puff of warm, putrid air against his cheek.

Blearily, the face of his father came into focus, and, all at once, Kurt was nine again.

_His father, peering down at him, so familiar and yet a complete stranger. His eyes were still threaded with veins redder than Kurt had ever seen them, but he was there, and he was watching. _

_Kurt took a huge breath, but cried out instantly as a flare of burning hot pain exploded up his side, by his ribcage. He whimpered, hands grasping uselessly in the air as he reached for someone who wasn't there anymore because she was _dead_ and he didn't know _who_ his daddy was anymore, because he was not Daddy; Kurt was certain._

_Crying now, he tried to take another breath, but it hurt so much and why couldn't he breathe properly and where was his Daddy, why wouldn't it stop hurting?_

_Through his blurred vision, Kurt made out the shadowy figure of his father sitting by him, back against the wall, and watching._

_Just watching._

_Kurt struggled to understand, through the pain fogging his mind, tried to figure out why he was just _watching_ him._

_He couldn't figure it out._

_Time passed, time filled with pain and restless sleep and tears and noises Kurt didn't even know he could make as every movement resulted in _hurt

_And his father was there, sitting quietly drinking, through it all, until Kurt woke up an immeasurable amount of time later in his own bed, after the first solid sleep since _it _had_ _happened, and his father was gone._

* * *

><p>Kurt came back to himself slowly, his senses picking up sounds and colours and feelings but not connecting them, unable to string together coherent thought.<p>

Vaguely, he heard his father's voice; shouting again, but Kurt couldn't answer.

He was floating. Nothing touched him here… he could hear his father, he could see shapes blurred by what he supposed must be tears, but nothing really… reached. He was aware of splintering pain in his arm, so much pain he doubted that even if he were awake he would be able to process, and managed to make the connection that his arm was broken.

He'd been pushed down the stairs, he realised, and his arm had broken during the fall… more thoughts, of ruined material and shattered glass and twisted metal, brushed against the back of his mind, but he shied away from them, refusing to reveal the images and look at them, shoving them as far away as possible.

He just stayed, for a while, floating, peaceful, untouchable, in his calm little space in his head, blissfully, blissfully unaware.

"-urt! Kurt!"

Kurt screamed as his father shifted his arm, moving it up to look at the clearly snapped bone; shards jabbing through the skin of his forearm and oh, Kurt realised, head spinning and breaths coming too short and fast, that book he'd read had been wrong, bone wasn't really all that white and gleaming but tinged pink and red and

Blood. That was blood. Kurt shrieked again as his father moved his hand, voice hoarse but loud, and dimly felt strong arms circling his body, aware of the feeling of being pressed close to someone's chest, before he passed out.

* * *

><p>He woke up briefly when his arm was moved again; long enough to scream once more before there was a brief, stinging pain in his upper arm and the world went dark again.<p>

Later he heard muttered conversation, something involving clothes and no time and as quickly as possible-

Shirt sleeve being ripped off at the shoulder, but everything else left intact, and- that was annoying he _liked_ this shirt-

Voices, hushed voices, vaguely familiar but-

The sound of a car engine, the brief blurred sight of that predawn light just before the sun peeked over the horizon. More words 'out of it for a while' and 'pain medication' and 'regularly' and assurances as fake as fake-

* * *

><p>His own bed. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and the air was quiet, untouched. Kurt blinked up at his ceiling for a few moments, a slight shift alerting him to the numb state of his arm.<p>

Perhaps other people would have taken longer to notice, but Kurt was constantly evaluating his body parts and how they felt.

Gingerly, he tried to sit up, but quickly gave up when a wave of dizziness swept through his head. He opted instead for turning his head slightly to try and see- oh.

A cast: hard, cream outer-shell over white, fluffy cotton.

Kurt blinked at it a few times, as if it would go away if he did so.

Nope. The cast was still quite firmly and undeniably _there_.

Now he just had to figure out what had happened to get it there.

* * *

><p>Blaine was worried.<p>

About lots of things; things like whether Cooper and he were ever going to be able to go more than a few days without a massive, overdramatic argument involving lots of pointing, was he ever going to find the perfect guy to walk hand in hand down a public street with, which college did he want to go to, were his marks high enough, were those bullies going to leave him alone.

Mostly, though, he was worried, worried _out of his mind_, about Kurt. He couldn't exactly put his finger on why Kurt worried him so much, besides the obvious reasons. Blaine had feelings for him; the bullies quite obviously emotionally traumatised Kurt; and he was still being bullied.

He just seemed so fragile.

Blaine hadn't been able to see it, when they'd first met, but as time went on it became clearer and clearer. Behind his walls and shields and defences, Kurt was fragile, hurting.

It was killing him; he didn't know how to fix it, didn't know how to help, especially at times like these when Kurt pushed him away.

Push back too hard, and Blaine could break him.

Don't push back at all, and Blaine could lose him.

* * *

><p><strong>So, hi guys! I don't think it's hard to figure out that this chapter, despite its shorter length, took a while longer because OH MY GOD SOMEBODY HOLD ME AND FORBID ME FROM EVER WRITING AGAIN BECAUSE I SHOULD CLEARLY NOT BE TRUSTED WITH CHARACTERS ADLSAHFLSD<strong>

**So, yeah. I hope the angst ball that this chapter was didn't kill anybody, and I hope you all... 'enjoyed' it? From a literary point of view, at least, even if it made you want to curl up in bed and never come out (which was basically what I did after I finished it. Complete with my teddy bear and a large jug of tea.)**

**THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to my adorable snuggle buddy beta who is made of rainbows and awesome, this chapter literally didn't make sense before she got her hands on it! 3**

**Thanks again for all the reviews last chapter, I love hearing from you all and also thank you to all the story alerters and favouriters (shhh, that is _so_ a word)! **

**Please review, this chapter made me strangely anxious and I'd really love to know what you all thought! XD**


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kurt lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about the very odd feeling of numbness in his arm, while he puzzled through the blurry, mish-mash images in his memory of the previous evening.

Though _damn_, whatever medication they'd given him at the hospital (where he figured he'd have to have been at least briefly, unless his father had a medical degree he didn't know about) was good.

He couldn't feel a thing, although he had a sneaking suspicion, gathered from vague, eight-year old memories of his shoulder that it would unfortunately wear off soon.

So, taking advantage of his relief from the inevitable pain, in his arm at least, he was thinking.

He'd been beaten basically into the wall for maybe half an hour when he got home late after defending Blaine on Thursday, and had managed to make it through Friday with a lot of rather painful ninja-like movements to avoid Blaine and the New Directions.

It was when he got home from school on Friday that things got a little hazy. His father had been at the top of the stairs, bottle in hand, on the landing…

Kurt scrunched up his face, remembering that they'd had a conversation, of sorts, about how Kurt wasn't good enough, wasn't the son he wanted, wasn't right, wasn't _natural_.

This was where the memories started to get _really _painful.

Scraps of material, broken pieces of glass, smooth and jagged-edged, throwing the light over the walls and ceiling, shards of splintered wood, twisted metal, torn paper… ripped tassels.

And he'd snapped. He'd snapped, and he'd fought and then…

God, why did it hurt so much? Kurt curled over onto his side, cast arm held awkwardly out to the side as he buried his face in his pillow, knees curling up as his spine curved; instinctively trying to make himself smaller, less of a target.

Despite the various aches of his body, what hurt most were the memories and feelings tearing through his mind, the feeling so intense he didn't know if he was going to survive it… Kurt would honestly not have been surprised to find that the images had somehow transcended into reality as shards of shrapnel and were currently shredding his brain tissue.

It _hurt_.

It felt like loss, it felt like burning, it felt like betrayal, betrayal so much bigger than even his worst beatings. It felt like what little home he'd managed to cling to had been destroyed and now he had _nothing_, now he was adrift and lost and _drowning_ and-

He didn't know how much longer he could survive this.

Kurt curled up tighter, balling the feelings inside his chest and biting the knuckles on his uninjured arm so hard he left bruises as he tried not to cry too loudly.

Nowhere was safe now.

* * *

><p>Blaine didn't hear from Kurt for the entire weekend, which made him realise not only how much he missed him, but also how much of his time had been spent texting him.<p>

He drew the line when he sent the seventh text and received no reply late Saturday afternoon, and for the rest of the weekend distracted himself with a combination of irritating Cooper and helping his mother out; talking to them, and dodging constant questions about Kurt and when he was going to bring him home for dinner?

He hadn't had the heart to tell them that Kurt hadn't spoken to him since Thursday, that made four days now, four whole _days_ for goodness' sake, he'd only known him what - four, five weeks? He could not be missing him this much after only _four days_ - and that was usually where he cut himself off and went to find Cooper, or turned his music up louder.

But now, facing Monday morning with his promises to try and invite Kurt (Kurt who was still avoiding him, as far as he knew) to dinner echoing in his ears, he was more of a nervous wreck than he'd been his first day back at public school.

His eyes kept flicking from his locker, where his hands were slowly searching out the right books, to the hallway, scanning for that familiar, well-dressed figure and impeccably styled hair.

But he didn't see Kurt for most of the day, though it certainly wasn't for lack of trying, but at lunch he caught sight of him; his head through the crowds which he immediately started to push through, frantic to get to his friend, to the boy he was in love with, before he got away again.

"Kurt!"

Kurt's head turned on instinct, but as soon as their eyes met across the crowded corridor his head was turning back again, a flash of blue-grey eyes and he was gone, swept away in the mass of people.

Blaine stopped, eyes absentmindedly tracking nameless people across the halls; a still island in the middle of a raging sea.

And he felt angry.

Worried, but angry, so angry. Angrier than he'd been for quite some time.

He could feel it simmering in his stomach, burning slow and hot and building as he stood there, glowering.

A hand slipping into the crook of his elbow startled him from his reverie (angry _angry angry_ reverie), and he turned to find Tina smiling at him hesitantly, an expression that quickly dropped when she caught his furious glare.

"Blaine? Are you okay?" she asked, voice soft and slightly nervous. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he smoothed out his expression and calmed himself down.

"I… no. Not really," he sighed, tugging at the collar of his shirt (which had been scratching at his neck all morning) as Mike came up to them. Tina smiled at him sympathetically, reaching for Mike's hand and then tugging Blaine along.

"Come on. Tell us about it at lunch?" Blaine smiled back, nodded, and felt incredibly grateful for his friends.

* * *

><p>"…just don't understand why he won't let me in! He says he cares for me, and then he pushes me away? I don't get it, what's he trying to say here?" Blaine finished, fists clenched on top of his tray, food pushed to the side. Mike made a thoughtful noise as he finished off his sandwich, while Tina was gazing at him, food forgotten in front of her, much like Blaine's.<p>

Blaine sighed and rested his head in his hands, anger completely spent and leaving him tired and weary.

"Blaine… did you know I used to have a stutter?" Blaine looked up, eyes wide. Wordlessly, he shook his head. He'd had no idea. Tina nodded at him, looking slightly pensive.

"Well… I did. But I used to fake it. It wasn't an actual disability… I've never had any legitimate problems with my speech." Blaine frowned at her, confused.

"Why would you do that?"

"I used to be really, really shy. I was terrified of people. And the easiest way to keep them away was to be different. I was scared, and so I protected myself. I faked it for nearly all my life, because I was too afraid to let people close. It took a long time, and the help of the people in Glee club to help me be brave enough to let people in." Tina turned to smile at her boyfriend briefly, squeezing the hand she held.

"But even then, it was a while before I learnt _how_. After so long, I had to learn how to talk to people, how to_ let_ people in."

Blaine's gaze dropped to the table, confused and mulling over the story.

"So, you're saying…" Tina nodded, smiling a little.

"I'm saying that Kurt's probably the same. I don't think he's ever had a friend… it's probably quite scary to suddenly have someone like you there. He's protecting himself, because he doesn't know how to let you in, Blaine." Blaine's gaze dropped again, thoughts whirling around his head.

If Kurt was scared to be his friend, then… what could Blaine do, but wait?

* * *

><p>Blaine stalked into the kitchen and flopped onto one of the barstools, immediately dropping his head down on his arms.<p>

"Blaine? Baby, what's wrong?" Blaine made a muffled groan into his arms, raising his head blearily to find both his mother and his brother staring at him in bemused concern.

"Kurt's pushing me away, and I didn't know why so I got angry cause he kept avoiding me, but then Tina told me this story about how she used to fake a stutter because she was really shy, and scared to let people be her friends, and we think that's why Kurt's refusing to talk to anybody: because he's scared and he doesn't know how to let us in, and now I don't know what to do!"

Cooper blinked at him for a moment, exchanging a brief glance with his mother. Apparently some kind of communication had transpired, because his mother gave him a quick hug, but then retreated from the kitchen with a final suspicious warning glare in Cooper's direction (which, Blaine knew without looking, would have received a smile that somehow managed to be both sheepish and innocent all at once. To say that this was a common interaction between Julia and her eldest son would be like saying the Earth is round.).

"I'll leave you two alone to talk" Julia murmured, dropping a kiss on Blaine's forehead and leaving with a swish of dark hair and a final warning look at Cooper.

"Start from the beginning, squirt." Cooper said gently, taking the seat next to Blaine as he sighed, dropping his chin on his hands once more, wondering where the hell the beginning even was.

There were so many places Blaine could start…

"You know how I first met Kurt?" Blaine decided to take it literally and go right back to the beginning, because he was floundering here. He needed all and any help he could get.

The question was rhetorical, but Cooper shook his head anyway, head tilted to the side and, for once, actively listening.

"He got literally shoved in front of me. Literally. By a jock, into a locker." Cooper's eyes widened slightly, mouth tightening a little in anger. Blaine gave a little shake of his head and suppressed a grim smile. If Cooper was angry at that… god knew how he was going to react when Blaine got to the details.

"And he's really… fascinating. Like, he's so brave, so much braver than I am. He just got up and carried on like it was absolutely nothing to be shoved into a locker on the first day back to school. But it was nothing - for him. The bullying Kurt goes through is insane, Cooper, absolutely horribly insane."

"And he's so… fragile. You can't see it, at first, _I_ didn't see it at first, but underneath it all he's hurting… something's going on with him, but I don't know what it is. And recently, he's been acting really… odd."

"If the bullying is been going on for a while, then who knows what kind of affect that's had on him. Maybe it's that?" Cooper suggested, tightly controlled rage peeking through his thoughtful exterior. Blaine shook his head.

"You should see the way he reacts to it. I can't help but think that he _genuinely_ doesn't care. When he gets shoved, or slushied, or gets called a name, or pushed out from the boys' locker rooms or whatever, he just… accepts it. It rolls off his back like water off a duck, like… like he's stronger than that." Blaine struggled to put the feeling into words, and from Cooper's frown, he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it.

"But… that's good, isn't it?"

"Not when I can see him hurting underneath it. Not when he still flinches from people's hands. I just… I love him, Cooper." His brother raised a gleeful eyebrow at that, but didn't speak. "But he's pushing me away, and if I push back too hard…" He dropped his gaze to his hands, his next words pushing their way from his mouth in a whisper.

"I'm terrified I'm going to break him. He's obviously not ready to let me in, but… I don't know what's going to happen if he doesn't let _someone_ in." Silence reigned for a few moments, as Cooper obviously mulled the situation over in his mind.

Blaine jumped when he felt his brother reaching out for him suddenly, but willingly relaxed into the hug.

"I think, Blainey," Cooper murmured into his hair, voice so soft and sincere that Blaine didn't have the heart to berate him for the nickname. "That all you can do for now is wait. Whatever's up with Kurt sounds serious, and if it gets worse or even if it gets better, then what you do is going to have to change. But for now… just be there for him, for when he's ready."

* * *

><p>Okay, so maybe waiting wasn't an option.<p>

At least not for Blaine, not right then. Not when Kurt had a freaking _cast on his arm_.

"KURT!" He yelled, barrelling through the doors and sprinting into the parking lot, attracting a lot of stares but uncaring. "Kurt Hummel! Get your ass back here right now!" Kurt jolted, shoulders hunching, and stopped, peering over his shoulder at Blaine with wide eyes.

"Um…"

Blaine hurtled to a stop by his side, sides heaving and twinging slightly with old bruises from last Thurday's incident, but Kurt had _stopped_.

"Uh…"

"Don't run!" Blaine yelped, head shooting up to find Kurt taking half a step backwards, but he stopped after that, staring at Blaine with a small frown on his face. "Please, Kurt, please don't run from me. Please." Blaine pleaded, expression practically cracking at the seams. Kurt regarded him warily, but didn't move.

"What happened." Blaine panted, still trying to catch his breath and not even bothering to make his sentence into a question; Kurt was going to answer him, dammit.

"Fell down the stairs." Kurt answered, eyes more guarded than Blaine had seen them up close in a while.

"You… how?" Kurt's eyebrow twitched.

"How you normally fall down the stairs, Blaine, by tripping." He snapped, words flinty, but Blaine was not going to be put off by that, not now.

"Why have you been ignoring me, Kurt? I get it if you need… space, or whatever, but couldn't you at least _tell_ me that? I'll give you all the time you need, Kurt, but you _have_ to talk to me." He said softly, trying to get his point across without being harsh.

"Why do I have to?"Kurt asked, his expression razor sharp and fragile as broken glass, tilting his head to the side and peering at Blaine from eyes that suddenly appeared very blue.

"Why- because we're friends, Kurt! We're… you said we were best friends. That's what best friends _do_, they support each other, give each other space if they need it, time if they need it, but most importantly they talk to each other!" Blaine retorted, desperately trying not to let his emotions take over and make him shout. Kurt flinched anyway, taking another step back as shields raised behind his eyes, making them more reflective than ever.

"Well, maybe we're not like that." Kurt whispered, shoulders hunching slightly as if even he knew that his reply was weak, and Blaine stepped closer.

"No, but I _want_ us to be like that Kurt, I want you to talk to me… I want to talk to you, too, when I need to. I want to be able to listen, and help if you want, and just… please, can't you let me be there for you?" He murmured, stepping even closer. Kurt looked down at him, tendrils of obvious panic creeping into his face. He stumbled backwards, trying to get away.

Without thinking, Blaine lurched after him, his hand reaching for him and enclosing around the arm that Kurt raised in defence; the one unrestricted by cast, and Blaine's fingers tightening around his wrist in a firm grip; strong enough to hold him without hurting him.

But Kurt gave a gasp, a noise that could not have been mistaken for anything other than pain, and winced. Blaine froze, Kurt's wrist still held in his hand.

"Kurt." He whispered, voice almost unrecognisable. Kurt had stilled, eyes wide with panic.

Feeling slightly sick, Blaine tightened his fingers a little - a little, not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, Blaine knew his own strength and knew that there was no way that his grip was strong enough to _hurt_, maybe feel uncomfortable, but not _hurt_ - Kurt winced again, a small, helpless whimper escaping him.

Sickness increasing, Blaine tugged Kurt's arm towards him, ignoring his small protest and weak attempts to free himself, and slid the sleeve of Kurt's long, thick jumper up his arm, taking his undershirt with it and baring the skin of his forearm.

Blaine stared, his focus narrowing just to the sight in front of him, blocking out any other noise or sight or smell. Nothing, _nothing _could possibly be more important.

The first thing he noticed were the marks.

Three narrow scars were running down his forearm. One was white, and looked shallower than the others, while the other two were still pinkish, raised and vivid against his pale skin. That meant- that meant that Kurt- he'd- Blaine couldn't think about it, not yet, and so he turned his arm over.

Then he saw the bruises. Angry, purple splotches in finger shaped marks encircling his arm like morbid bracelets, tracking over the scars and up; one disappearing underneath the edge of Kurt's sleeve.

He looked up and met Kurt's panicked eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet.

"What is this?"

* * *

><p><strong>Hi guys, um. Could you please please please not kill me for this because I quite like being alive and there are lots of things I still want to do, including finishing this story and getting Kurt safe so if you kill me it would be a real shame cause Kurt would be left like this forever.<strong>

**So no killing, deal? **

**So so so sorry for the delay, end of term happened, and then I was travelling and life was crazy, but I am settled for most of the summer now, meaning that I *promise* I will be as fast as I possibly can with the next chapter. Even I think this is a horrible cliffhanger.**

**So, yeah, hope everybody enjoyed this, and please review! Also, if you guys could tell me what you think of Blaine's mom, I'd really appreciate it - I'm ever so slightly in love with her and I'd really like to know what you thought! **

**Thank you to lovely adorable said beta, who had to beta this chapter on my rather cranky laptop (which caused several arguments between them) but pushed through! Love you! **

**AND THE REST OF YOU MWAH MWAH PLEASE DON'T KILL ME OR DIE CAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS KAY? KAY BYE XD**


	15. Chapter 14

**Trigger warning: mentions of suicide**

**Please to be blaming the delay for this chapter on my beta, who sat next to me while I was trying to write it with one of my sketch pads (which is, incidentally, FULL - that's 60 drawings) going through it, telling me very loudly what was happening in each drawing. -.-'**

* * *

><p>CHAPTER FOURTEEN<p>

"What is this?"

Kurt's head was spinning.

Or maybe it was the world that was spinning. Fuck if he had enough mental capacity to work that one out right then.

Because his sleeve was by his elbow. And there was nothing underneath it. And he was _outside_, surrounded by _other people_.

That right there was a combination of several things that were _never supposed to happen_, never, ever because

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

He couldn't process this. Blaine had seen the bruises. Blaine had

He could

All of it he could see it he didn't want Blaine to see that he didn't _want to be seen like this-_

"Kurt!"

Kurt gasped, air scraping against the sides of his throat as if he'd been screaming for hours (which for all he knew, he could have been), and the world snapped back into place around him; bright and loud and almost technicolour in its intensity.

Kurt stared at Blaine's face; stared at his desperation, his concern, his compassion.

Everything was intense and fragmented and _desperate_, and Kurt was suddenly hit, properly, with the fact that _Blaine had seen_.

His walls broke down, everything, all the defences were gone and he was as helpless as a baby at that moment, he would realise later, because he couldn't actually wrap his head around what had happened, what that meant, what was going to happen.

He didn't know.

* * *

><p>Kurt seemed to go into a daze at the question, his defences dropping and leaving his face bare and open, his gaze hollow in a way that hurt Blaine to see, unresponsive until Blaine took hold of his shoulders and shook him gently, raising his voice in an effort to be heard.<p>

"Kurt!" Kurt's eyes focused suddenly, on his face, and he swayed slightly, but other than that he didn't react, didn't move. He looked even more lost than Blaine felt.

"You guys okay?"

Blaine jumped, craning his neck even as he tugged Kurt closer by the grip he had on the other boy's shoulders, to be met with Santana's unflinching gaze.

"Uh…"

Instantly her concerned expression deepened - Blaine had heard from Rachel that Santana only displayed human emotions towards Brittany, and more recently, Kurt - and she stepped closer, her eyes no longer looking at him but instead focused on Kurt's panicked face.

"What did you do to him, hobbit?" she barked, reaching out for Kurt with an expression that somehow managed to look intimidating, royally pissed and worried as a mother lioness all at the same time, but Kurt seemed to see her, his presence behind his haunted eyes becoming stronger by the minute, and he flinched away, closer into Blaine.

She froze, staring at them in shock, before folding her arms and levelling him with a glare.

"Santana, please, I need you to help me get him out of here," he asked, his brain suddenly firing forwards out of the shock and racing as he tried to get a handle on the situation. One of Santana's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose.

"I- okay, but I expect answers after that," she muttered, stepping forwards again and taking the car keys Blaine had wormed out of his pocket, following him as he manoeuvred Kurt to walk unsteadily with him.

They managed to get to Blaine's car with only minor difficulties, as focusing on walking seemed to give Kurt a sense of purpose that was slowly bringing him out of his shock.

Kurt sat in the front seat by himself when Blaine prompted him, still staring at Blaine with defeated eyes. He dimly heard Santana's sharp intake of shock as he met Kurt's eyes and held them, desperately trying to convey to him that he was safe, Blaine wasn't going to hurt him, was never going to hurt him.

"Blaine."

He whirled to face Santana, the urgent, almost broken whisper she spoke in inciting concern for her as well as Kurt.

He followed her eyes and realised that he'd left Kurt's sleeve rolled up, and Santana could see the rings of bruises, as well as the scars.

"I don't know what they're from. I just found out about them..." Blaine said helplessly, reaching up to claw at his hair, for once not even noticing as he messed up whatever semblance of style it had retained after a frantic day at school.

She met his gaze, her thoughts almost visible, sharp and focused, behind her dark eyes.

"What do they mean?"

He made an indecipherable noise as his thoughts flinched away from thinking about it, and forced himself to lower his hands.

"I don't know. I… I just don't know. Santana, please… I- I don't know what to do." He whispered, and she surveyed him for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth between him and Kurt. She'd just opened her mouth to say something when a different voice spoke.

"That's you and me both."

* * *

><p>Santana liked Kurt.<p>

She wasn't about to go about shouting it for the entire world to hear, or even him, but she did. He was the opposite of Brittany in nearly all ways possible, but he had a similar… softness. She kind of considered him to be a combination of both herself and Brittany, though obviously he was his own person as well.

He had that softness that shone through his every expression and gesture when he looked at Blaine, and then he had that 'come-at-me-bitches' attitude which came out when Berry got particularly annoying.

But Santana wasn't stupid.

She knew there was a whole maelstrom of shit going on behind that softness, behind that tough exterior.

She knew because she was the same. She could recognise those shields, because she used them herself.

And maybe because of that understanding, she didn't push him. He would tell Blaine, he'd sort it out in his own time. She wasn't going to bug him about whatever it was, because she sure as hell didn't want to be bugged about her own problems. How hypocritical and overwhelmingly Berry-like would it be to do exactly what she didn't want to someone else?

The very idea disgusted her.

But none of that meant that when she came out of school and saw Blaine standing by a Kurt who looked more vulnerable and broken and panicked than she'd ever seen him, she was going to just pass right on by like the rest of the student body.

And then he'd fucking _flinched away from her_. Sure, she'd seen him avoid touches and startle and shit before, but she'd never seen him flinch like that, like he was afraid that she was going to hurt him.

That right there told her that there was something seriously messed up going on, something more messed up than any of them had ever realised.

She tried not to think about it too hard; focusing on the here and now as she agreed to help Blaine get Kurt to the relative privacy of his car, concentrating on Blaine's desperation and on Kurt's facial expression, rather than her own.

But then they stared her right in the face when she caught sight of his bared forearm, littered with dark, purpling bruises that covered his skin in finger shaped patterns. She saw the instantly recognisable scars that told her that Kurt had tried, at least once, to kill himself.

And if that wasn't like a cold slushie to the face, then Santana didn't know what was and would most likely give up on ever understanding the concept of metaphors and similes forever.

It was about then that it really hit home that whatever mess Kurt was in, it was deeper than any of them, even Blaine, had ever realised.

"What do they mean?" She asked him. They both knew that she wasn't talking about the scars. They were horrifically self explanatory. Blaine made a strangled noise, but answered her nevertheless.

"I don't know. I… I just don't know. Santana, please… I- I don't know what to do." She watched him, gaze flickering back and forth, and tried to think how to deal with this. Kurt spoke before she could work it out.

"That's you and me both." Kurt said dryly, staring up at them with eyes that were still hollow, with a face that was still horribly open. His bared wrist was still resting on his thigh, scars even more vivid and bruises startling.

"Kurt… can you, can you tell me what happened? Please?" Blaine asked, his voice soft, almost transformed completely from his earlier frantic panic. Santana was quite impressed with his ability to quash the violent emotions for Kurt, in spite of herself.

Kurt stared at Blaine, both of them lost in each other's gazes and neither knowing how to move forwards.

"I…" Kurt whispered, his chest heaving with his quick pants and his panic clearly starting to overwhelm him.

Memories that had been buried at the back of Santana's mind suddenly surged up to help her now.

"Blaine, he's having a panic attack," she murmured urgently, crouching on the tarmac so she could meet Kurt's lowered gaze. He flinched away from her again, almost falling off his seat into Blaine, who began talking to him in a low, soothing voice.

"Kurt, stay with us, okay? Breathe, Kurt. Breathe." Kurt closed his eyes, so he didn't see Santana's narrowing as he got himself under control.

Nobody was that practised at calming down the first time they had a panic attack.

No one.

Which meant Kurt had had them before.

She stepped back, letting Blaine move forwards and stroke his hands gently up and down Kurt's arms.

Kurt was trembling still, but breathing regularly now in slow, even, carefully controlled breaths, and in that moment Santana made a decision. Right now, Kurt wasn't going to respond to her, so she couldn't do anything. For now.

"Blaine, take him home. Get him inside and… safe." She glanced around the almost empty parking lot quickly, obviously driving her point home, and moved to the sidewalk to watch Blaine asking Kurt to put on his seatbelt (he attempted to do so with hands that shook so much Santana had to suppress the urge to move forwards again and hold them - an urge she rarely got with anyone other than Brittany).

She stayed there long after Blaine had driven off, her thoughts tumbling over each other over and over again.

* * *

><p>Blaine parked on the street outside his house, rather than try and focus his brain enough to squeeze into the driveway (damn Cooper and his fondness for large vehicles, honestly did he really have to drive a Buick out of all the cars in the world), and killed the engine.<p>

Neither of them had spoken on the journey over, Blaine blocking off the majority of his feelings and thoughts so he could focus on driving, but now everything was still and too quiet with the absence of the background noise of the engine.

"Where are we?" Kurt asked, his voice quiet, and Blaine turned to look at him, face set. Kurt flinched a little, but stayed in his seat, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

"We're at my house," Blaine answered equally softly, but he didn't relax his determined expression. "And I want you tell me what's going on."

Kurt drew in a shuddery breath, his fingers twisting together and drawing Blaine's attention briefly. He noticed that Kurt had shoved his sleeve back down, but, he thought grimly, the damage was done. Kurt couldn't hide it now.

"I…" Startlingly, loudly, with tremors that wracked his entire frame, Kurt began to sob.

* * *

><p>He broke. Literally, actually, shattered and imploded and exploded and just… broke.<p>

He couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

Blaine hadn't asked him what was wrong, he'd demanded it, with that unknown emotion shining in his eyes, intermingled with worry and determination and affection and Kurt just… _couldn't_.

He broke, and he began to cry in a way he hadn't since he was eight years old, in a way he had never allowed himself to, and all of the tears and frustration and hatred and agony came rushing out of him in a flood he couldn't control.

* * *

><p>When Kurt began to cry, Blaine didn't even think, he just moved.<p>

The next instant he had Kurt in his arms, shifting him so that they could both sit as comfortably as possible in the passenger seat of his car. It ended up with Kurt curled up basically on his lap, sobbing and clinging to him with desperately with hands clenched in his shirt.

It was one of the most horrible experiences Blaine had ever gone through, hearing Kurt, his Kurt, cry like that. Hearing him cry like he couldn't stop, cry like there was a river of unimaginable pain inside that was being torn from him, and all Blaine could do was sit there and hold him close.

He waited until Kurt's sobs began to die down, rocking him gently and soothing him with soft noises, no words. Dimly, he noticed the sky outside darkening, noticed Julia coming out of the house, seeing them both, seeing Kurt's obvious distress and clearly making the decision to leave them alone and returning inside.

Finally, finally, Kurt's heart-wrenching crying began to abate, slowly at first and then with increasing steadiness and forced, shaky breathing, Kurt managed to stop crying.

"Shall we go inside? We can talk in my room," Blaine offered softly, any embarrassment he might have felt at holding Kurt like this as usual gone in the face of Kurt's pain.

With a sniff, Kurt raised his head, staring at Blaine with a horrifically open, blotchy face.

"Why?" he croaked, voice cracking in the middle of the word from the abuse his throat had suffered in the last hour.

"It's warmer in there," Blaine answered. He knew that wasn't what Kurt was asking, but he didn't think either of them were quite ready for the honest answer to that question.

Kurt seemed to accept it though, and Blaine led him slowly up the driveway, opening the door as quietly as possible and tugging him gently inside by the hand he was suddenly holding.

His dad's study was on the far side of the house, so he never heard the front door if Blaine opened it quietly.

Julia, on the other hand, had obviously been waiting for him, and she was in the hallway almost as soon as Blaine had shut the door.

She took one look at Kurt's blotchy, shadowed, half-terrified face, and instantly shoved Cooper, coming up behind her, back into the kitchen with a stern glare that he knew from experience not to argue with.

"Do you need anything?" she asked, keeping her voice low and focusing on her son as Kurt huddled into Blaine's shoulder.

"Do we have any cream or something for bruises?" he asked, as his mother's eyes widened briefly, before she nodded.

"Savlon." Kurt's voice startled both of them; hoarse and dry as he peeked at Julia through his bangs, long since escaped from the grip of hairspray. He cleared his throat nervously. "Savlon's best. I, uh, have some in my bag." He whispered, eyes darting over the walls, but whatever defences he'd been using to avoid these types of admissions… they were gone; completely and utterly destroyed.

"That's alright, dear, Blaine has some in his bathroom cabinet. Call me if you need anything," she murmured, retreating into the kitchen at a nod of confirmation from Blaine.

The fact that Kurt was here at all was a miracle in itself. Give him time to get his defences back up, and who knew when Blaine would get the chance to help him again.

* * *

><p>Julia was terrified.<p>

Not just for her son, but for the boy he was so clearly in love with as well.

She'd never seen a child of Kurt's age look so haunted, not outside the disturbing, old, worn photographs from blackened periods in history that both repulsed and fascinated her in equal measures.

She'd had her suspicions, ever since Blaine had come home with a bruised face and torso, nearly giving her a heart attack, and asked her hopelessly how Kurt could be the way he was.

Something had happened to that boy, she knew that without even meeting him. And she suspected it was something violent, something similar to what her own child had gone through.

But she hadn't spoken to Blaine about that; of course she hadn't. Even if her suspicious were correct, Kurt had to be the one to tell Blaine. Blaine guessing, even correctly, would not let Kurt trust her son the way he obviously didn't yet.

And there was the scarily large chance that she was wrong. She didn't know much about psychology, she was no medical student, but she was fairly intelligent, and she did read. She knew that whatever Kurt had gone through, it most likely had its roots in violence. But that still left a horrifically large spectrum of experiences for his to fall into, and Blaine suspecting one thing, projecting signs that he expected to see… that could drive Kurt away for good, and Julia never wanted to see that happen while she could help it.

She hadn't seen Blaine smile so much since he was a child.

As soon as she saw the back of Kurt's head, cradled in the crook of Blaine's neck as her son rocked him back and forth and Kurt shook in Blaine's arms, one bandaged arm held out awkwardly to the side, she knew that Kurt had reached his breaking point.

When he came in the door, bearing that shadowed, broken expression, she realised that this boy was damaged in ways she hadn't even begun to think about until she met his gaze.

And she also knew that much as she might wish she could bundle him up, feed him (Julia could not abide skinny people; in her opinion everybody should have at least a little plumpness - an attitude that had caused both Blaine and Cooper to compare her to Mrs Weasley on more than one occasion) and hold him and keep him safe from whatever was hurting him, she couldn't. She knew that Kurt had never met her before, couldn't possibly trust her.

But Kurt did trust, even if was only a little, Blaine.

So while perhaps other mothers would have demanded that both boys remain in the kitchen and explain, she stood aside and let them go upstairs, hoping that they could get through this together.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?" Blaine had settled Kurt on his bed and was now sitting across from him, Savlon tube in hand. Kurt jumped and looked up at him, before he noticed the tube and reached for it.<p>

Blaine held it up, out of his reach.

"I'll do it," he said mildly. Kurt looked like he was about to protest, but subsided back into one of Blaine's pillows cautiously, his sleeve already rolled up. Blaine reached for his arm, gently, and began to smooth the gel into his skin, with feather light but firm touches, carefully watching Kurt's face for any sign that he had pressed too hard.

He felt strangely calm. The storm of his emotions hadn't gone, exactly, but it was buried under a smooth determined surface, focused on one thing and one thing only. Not Blaine's feelings. Not his thoughts, suspicions, ideas, emotions, none of that. All of that was, for now, buried.

He was only focused on Kurt, on getting Kurt to let out the hurt, and comforting him afterwards.

He would deal with the rest of it later.

"Who gave you these?" he asked softly. Kurt drew in another small, shuddering breath, and when he answered his voice was near silent.

"My father."

Blaine froze, struggling to keep himself calm and only half succeeding, and raised his head to meet Kurt's eyes.

He was expressionless, eyes dull and facing downwards, resigned.

"What?" Blaine whispered, aghast. Kurt's gaze slid up to meet his.

"My father gave me them," he repeated, a little louder. Blaine wiped his hands and set the Savlon aside, reaching for Kurt's hands in an almost unconscious movement. Kurt willingly let Blaine tangle their fingers together, but fixated his gaze on Blaine's sheets as if he could discover their thread count if he only stared hard enough.

"Explain." Blaine prompted, softly, and Kurt took another deep breath, but let the words spill from him; messy, uncoordinated and sure as hell not planned (who the hell would plan for this kind of thing?), but, at last, more truthful than ever before.

"My parents used to argue quite a lot when I was younger… I never really heard what they argued about. It was something about my father, or his viewpoints or _something_, that mama hated, but he refused to budge on. It got worse as I got older. When I was eight, mama… snapped, I guess. She took me out the house and put me in the car, and started to drive away.

"I didn't understand what was going on, and I kept asking her questions… I don't know whether anything would have been different if I'd just have kept quiet, but she got distracted and we hit a truck. She died. I don't remember much of the aftermath, but I woke up in hospital, with an injured shoulder. I think it was dislocated but…" Kurt shrugged dismally, his mouth twisting slightly. Blaine stared at him, swallowing dryly.

"It wasn't your fault," he murmured, and Kurt was startled into meeting his gaze. "That she died, I mean. It couldn't have been," Blaine whispered, tightening his grip on Kurt's hands fiercely. Kurt ducked his head, breath whistling out between his teeth, and continued.

"I… they took me back to my father, but all my relatives were there. The house was full of people, and… there was a funeral. But then everyone left, and it was just me and _him_, and…" Kurt trailed off with a little choke, and closed his eyes. Blaine watched him, eyes wide, and tried to hold back the wave of protectiveness that told him to just snuggle Kurt up in his arms and make him stop talking about things that were obviously hurting him. He had to know the truth, or he could never help.

"Did he hit you?" Blaine posed the question tentatively, wishing he was wrong despite all the overwhelming evidence.

Kurt nodded.

Blaine closed his eyes and breathed out, slowly, extending the exhalation of air for as long as he could.

"God, _Kurt_," he choked, not trusting himself to open his eyes just yet, and had to swallow back bile as the image of an eight year old Kurt, tiny and sparrow like, recently bereaved of his mother and looking for comfort, only to be met with violence.

Blaine breathed in and out a few more times, trying to ensure that he wouldn't start screaming at the unfairness of it all, trying to make sure that his own emotions didn't boil over and disrupt his effort to comfort Kurt.

He opened his eyes to find Kurt gazing at him, looking steadier than he had all day, head tilted to the side with a curious expression on his face.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," he breathed, whole body aching to move but held in place by Kurt's calm stare.

"Why? You did that before, too, when I first told you about mama," Kurt commented softly. "Why do you apologise for things that you can't help?" Blaine shook his head a little, leaning closer.

"I can still be sorry that it happened, sorry that it hurts, that it's still hurting, that nobody else has ever noticed it hurting…"

A dark look briefly crossed Kurt's face, a spasm of ugly feelings reflected in his features before they smoothed out again.

"You noticed," was all he said in reply, gaze dropping to their joined hands. Blaine forgot how to breathe for a moment. "You didn't let me hide any more. I could've survived; gone on hiding, gone on… _surviving_… but you wouldn't let me. You brought me out from behind the mirrors…" Kurt mumbled, seemingly mostly talking to himself, though Blaine heard every word.

"That's not living. Surviving is not the same as living, Kurt, and I want more than just surviving for you," Blaine murmured back, his voice no less impassioned for its softer volume.

Kurt's eyes flashed.

"I _am_ living!" he snapped, as Blaine leaned forward again.

"Are you?"

Kurt opened his mouth, but shut it again the next instant, staring at Blaine helplessly. "I don't want you to hide, Kurt. I want you to get out, from behind these… mirrors. I want more than just surviving for you." He repeated voice rising and then dropping again, while Kurt struggled.

"What else can I do, Blaine? My father is an alcoholic bastard who hates me. My mother is dead. My uncle has never noticed, not once, the only aunt who didn't shun me on principle of being flamboyant even at the age of seven abandoned me. My friends don't notice. What else can I possibly do but survive?" He demanded, hopelessness gleaming in his eyes. Blaine didn't know what to say.

"Why do you stay with him? I get that… your uncle, you love him and he loves you. Why can't you… why didn't you go to him, when this started?" Blaine asked, pushing gently and carefully watching for the moment that he pushed too far. Kurt shifted, his gaze flickering around the room and barely concealing the edges of panic that were creeping up on him.

"I was eight, Blaine. My mama had just died. Nothing in the world made sense then, _nothing_," Kurt murmured, closing his eyes against a wave of memories, a wave of yet more hurt.

"But after?" More pushing, gentle, gentle.

"After? I don't even want you to know, Blaine. I don't want anyone to know. My father _hits_ me because I'm not good enough! It's my _fault_ Blaine, it's all my own stupid fault because I can't be normal, even for my own family!" Kurt yelled, all the emotion that had been strangely lacking previously surging forward in a torrent of angry words.

"I'm disgusting, why would Uncle Burt want someone like me? Why would he want someone as _fucked up _as I am? Who would want someone who can't even protect himself, can't even be good enough for his own family? _Who would want someone like that, Blaine_?_ Why would I want the people I love to see me like that_?" Kurt was yelling now, his face flushing as he rose up on his knees, causing Blaine to stare up at him in pure horror.

There were so many faults in Kurt's reasoning that he didn't know where to start, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was:

"I want you."

Kurt's mouth had opened, maybe to let forth another stream of yelling, maybe not, but at Blaine's words it snapped shut again with an audible click.

Kurt stared at him, eyes wide.

"I want you. You're not fucked up, you're not horrible. It's not your fault, Kurt. You're absolutely perfect," he murmured quietly, gazing at Kurt as he carefully, slowly, rose up to his knees so that they were nearly equal in height.

"I- what?" Kurt asked, near breathless with surprise - not shock, but _surprise_.

Blaine reached out and stroked the pads of his fingers over Kurt's cheek, his eyes searching his eyes.

And then he leaned forwards and, before he could talk himself out of it, kissed him.

Gently, a butterfly press of lips on lips, but firm enough, sure enough to be real before he drew back, keeping his face as close as possible without kissing him again, sharing breath and near shaking with the rush of emotions that surged through him; giddy happiness, deep, satisfied joy, fear, nerves, all whirled together in a messy jumble.

Kurt let out a shaky noise, and kissed him back.

Their lips met with more force this time; Blaine gasped, returning the pressure with just as much eagerness and desperation as Kurt had started it; flesh sliding over flesh again and again.

They broke away when the need for air became too much, but Blaine still stayed close, tilting his head to rest their foreheads together, both their eyes closed. He could feel Kurt trembling, could feel himself vibrating, but for a brief wonderful moment, all that existed was that: the two of them, shaking in the light of new feelings, having just shared something special.

Blaine drew back slowly, eyes opening as he did so in order to gauge Kurt's expression. Kurt's eyes blinked open a moment later, bright and grey-green, as tears spilled over and traced down his cheeks. Barely breathing, Blaine reached out and cupped Kurt's face, smoothing his thumbs across his cheeks and collecting the moisture as Kurt stared up at him.

"I love you."

Blaine froze.

No way.

No fucking way and Kurt just said that.

He was pulled back to the present the next instant when Kurt bit his lip, tears still spilling from his eyes, and spoke again. "Sorry."

Blaine breathed out, a half sob, half laugh escaping him as he gazed down at Kurt. "You should be." A brief shadow appeared in Kurt's eyes, but it vanished as soon as Blaine continued speaking. "I wanted to say that first."

"You…"

Blaine bent close again, noses touching, and breathed the words against Kurt's lips.

"I love you, Kurt."

They kissed again, for a little while, content to just stay in the moment, but finally, reluctantly, Blaine drew back, twisting his torso to sit next to Kurt, back against his pillows.

Hesitantly, he opened his arms, watching as Kurt's eyes widened and then as a shy smile bloomed on his face and he cautiously shifted closer, letting Blaine position his head in the dip where his neck met his shoulder, let Blaine's arms encircle him and hold him close.

* * *

><p>To say that Kurt's day had been an emotional roller coaster would have been an understatement.<p>

For one thing, he wasn't sure there was a roller coaster in existence that could quite compare to the twists and turns and dives and swoops his feelings had undertaken today, and for another he hadn't been on a roller coaster since he was six, so he wasn't quite sure if he was remembering them correctly. (Not to mention that roller coasters that were approved for six year olds tended not to be the kind of roller coaster most people associated with the word.)

First of all, his barriers had been shattered, and then rebuilt again, but differently.

That was an experience Kurt wasn't sure he could fully comprehend at that moment, and nor did he want to, seeing as his back was resting against Blaine's chest and he had no desire to move in any way, mentally or otherwise.

And then there was that.

Blaine.

Blaine had told him he wanted him.

Blaine had told him he wasn't horrible.

Blaine had kissed him.

And then he'd blurted out, like the idiot he was, that he loved him.

_And Blaine had said he loved him back_.

Kurt didn't think he was ever going to get used to that, ever get used to how perfectly content and _safe_ he felt in Blaine's arms, hearing the steady thump of Blaine's heartbeat against his shoulder blades, feeling his warmth surrounding him.

Their arms were folded together, as neatly as possible given that one of Kurt's was encased in a cast, and Blaine was tracing his fingers over his forearm in absent minded patterns. Kurt was, dare he think it, _happy_, and sleepy, and drained in the best possible way.

Oh the hurt was still there. But the barbs had been… washed out, for the moment, and everything covered with the soft feeling of… Kurt supposed that he was going to feel ridiculous no matter which way he said it, so he might as well admit: it was the soft feeling of love.

"What about these?" Blaine's voice, Blaine's lovely lovely voice, sounded softly in his ear. Blearily, his gaze wandered down to where Blaine had flipped his wrist, the one not covered by a cast. He stiffened, but, he noted with some surprise, didn't completely freeze up, when he saw where Blaine's fingers were resting.

Over his scars.

They'd been there so long, been so much a part of him, that Kurt rarely noticed them anymore. They were just _there_, in the same way that moles and freckles were. But of course, nobody else had ever seen them.

"I…" For some reason, these words were much harder to get out than the earlier ones. Blaine _knew_, Kurt reminded himself, he knew. Only god knew why he hadn't run to the hospital or the police or something yet, but he _knew_.

So why was it so hard to say?

Blaine's hands started up their lazy traceries again.

"How old were you?" he prompted softly, the tone of his voice compassionate, but not demanding in the way they'd been earlier. Kurt swallowed.

"Twelve," he answered quietly, listening to Blaine's sharp intake of breath, feeling the way his chest rose suddenly.

"What happened?"

"I… I stole my father's spare razors. I'd looked it up- which way to cut, I mean. I thought you were supposed to cut across, but…" he trailed off as he felt Blaine shudder beneath him, and looked up.

"Blaine?"

Blaine sat up and turned so that they were facing each other, and buried his head in Kurt's shoulder, clinging to him now.

"I don't like hearing about you hurt. I especially don't like hearing about you hurting_ yourself_." Blaine shuddered against him again, as Kurt looked down at the top of his head with trepidation.

Hesitantly, he raised his free hand and rested it hesitantly against Blaine's shoulder, which was apparently the right thing to do, if the way Blaine held him tighter was any indication.

God, what was he even doing?

"What happened?" Blaine asked, question muffled against Kurt's jumper.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Blaine looked up, eyes bright and determined, but drew back so that he could meet Kurt's gaze properly.

"I'm sure. I want to know everything you'll tell me Kurt. I love you." He repeated softly, and Kurt felt his breath catch in his throat with a shiver at hearing the words.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard them spoken towards him.

"I went into my bathroom to do it. The razors were quite small, so it took a couple of tries to get it right," Kurt continued, gaze dropping to his wrist as he detached himself expertly from the story even as he told it. "There were a couple of other cuts, but none deep enough to scar like these ones. Three on this wrist… Four on this one." Kurt said softly, raising the wrist hidden by bandages slightly from where it was resting in Kurt's lap.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine breathed. When he didn't say anything else, Kurt continued.

"I don't know how close I came to dying. I don't know how much blood I lost. I nearly lost consciousness, but that was probably more shock than anything… and then I realised I wanted to live. More than ending all the hurt, I want to live."

_He sat there, back propped up against the sink, watching as the puddle of red he sat in grew slowly larger. He couldn't look at the ragged ruins of his wrists. What was the point in forcing himself to, if he felt sick at the thought of it? He was going to die. There wasn't any point in being brave, not now._

_He tipped his head back, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling, and once again thought about death. His death. His mother's death. The idea of it sounded… blissful. He might see mama again._

_He would escape his father. _

_He wouldn't be picked on anymore. He wouldn't be kicked or punched anymore. He wouldn't hurt._

_But all of a sudden, all he could think was that if he died here, like he'd planned to, they would have won._

_His father would've won. The bullies, the teachers, everybody who'd ever looked down on him, sneered at him, pushed him around… they'd have beat him._

_And his mama wouldn't want him to die._

_She would never want him to give up, not if there was a chance._

_Half-delirious with blood loss, stress, shock and fatigue, Kurt Eleryn decided that he wanted to _live_._

Kurt blinked back to himself bare moments later to find Blaine holding him again;, their chests almost pressed together.

Kurt raised his head to meet Blaine's gaze.

"Are you going to tell?" he asked, well aware of the childish nature of his question but unwilling to try and rephrase it, exhausted as he was. Blaine stared at him, hand stilling in his hair.

"Tell them what?"

"Anything."

"I… do you want me to?" He asked, biting his lip and looking more conflicted than Kurt could find reasons for. He shook his head, feeling Blaine shift against him uncomfortably.

"I won't tell anyone about the… cuts. But, Kurt, you can't stay with your father." Kurt raised his head further, cold desperation cutting through the haze of exhaustion, the daze of happiness and memories of kisses.

"No." He knew his voice was sharper than it had been all day, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he fought his way out of Blaine's arms.

"No. Blaine. No. Don't try and help me. I'm dealing with it. I'm not leaving my house, not now," he ranted, scrambling to his feet and trying to pull his thoughts together, but before he could even try to form another argument, Blaine had leapt up with annoying agility and tugged him back down onto the bed again.

"Okay, okay. I won't tell, okay?" Kurt gazed at him for a long moment, before jerkily nodding. "But promise me you won't do this on your own." Kurt frowned at him, and Blaine explained. "You have me now, Kurt. And I have you. Please, please… let me help. With whatever, with anything. We can get through it together Kurt. Please?"

"Okay. Don' tell, Blaine." Kurt mumbled, his eyes drooping as his body relaxed, cradled in Blaine's warmth. "Love you." He managed to get out through his sleepiness, realising with a thrill of excitement that he could say that, out loud. He heard a brief chuckle and felt a phantom kiss pressed to his hair.

"Love you too."

* * *

><p><strong>Hellooooo guys! So delayed author's note here, and I don't know how many of you are going to actually see this (for that matter I don't know how many people bother to read my rambling, but whatever) but I do need to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of the reviews, story alerts and favourites, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate them all. I'm sorry about the couple of reviews I didn't manage to reply to before I posted this chapter - I'm getting right on that now! <strong>

**Also a huge thank you to my beta, who again had to struggle with my rather argumentative laptop to beta this chapter, despite your unhelpful narration of my notebook. ;P LOVE**

**THANK YOU again, and please review! XD**


	16. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When Julia opened her youngest son's bedroom door the next morning, she had to stop for a moment, breath catching in her throat as she gazed at the sight that greeted her.

The previous evening when she'd stopped outside the door, listening not to eavesdrop but to make sure they were okay, she had heard the quiet murmurs of voices; both quite distressed, and had made the executive decision to leave them be.

She'd gone to bed, lying awake worrying for longer than she cared to admit, but when she woke up she managed to restrain herself from rushing immediately to check on Blaine and Kurt; instead carefully and with purposeful steadiness going through her usual morning routine.

Now, she stood, dressed, in the doorway and staring at her son as small fingers of sunlight streamed into the room through a gap in the curtains.

She came closer until her knees bumped gently into the end of the bed, and just stared, trying hard not to cry.

Blaine and Kurt lay on the bed, both curled around each other, Kurt's head tucked beneath Blaine's chin with his cast arm resting awkwardly along his side, the other hand curled in Blaine's jumper so tightly his knuckles were white.

And Blaine was holding on just as firmly; arms curved around his shoulders and holding him close.

It was one of the most beautiful things Julia had ever seen, and she had to cough to clear her throat, blinking rapidly.

The noise didn't stir either of the boys, and Julia hated to wake either of them up; but they had school today, and her stance as non-interfering could only go so far.

She reached out and gripped her son's still clothed shoulder, shaking it as gently as she could to wake him. Blaine made a small, adorable mumbling noise and released Kurt with one arm to bat her hand away with a frown. Squashing a snicker, she shook him again, and this time Blaine blearily blinked his eyes open.

"Mom?" He muttered, and she shook him again.

"Yes sweetie. Can you get up? Try not to wake Kurt." At Kurt's name, Blaine's eyes opened fully, gaze darting to the boy in his arms with something like disbelief for a moment before flickering back to his mom's eyes.

What Julia saw there made her breath catch in her throat again; desperation and helplessness and love, all swirled together in an almost incomprehensible hurricane. Swallowing, she patted his shoulder.

"Meet me in the kitchen? I think you should let him sleep for a while." Was all she said, watching as his expression tightened slightly, but he nodded, and she turned to leave the room.

When she got down to the kitchen, she found Cooper leaning against the counter, arms crossed and eyes hard. She'd managed to persuade him not to bother the boys the previous night, but it looked like he wasn't going to wait any longer.

"Blaine's coming down." She cut in before he could raise any protests, leaving him standing there with his mouth open for a moment while he processed the information.

"Good." He nodded shortly and shifted. "What about the other boy? That was Kurt, wasn't it?" Julia nodded, going to perch against the counter opposite her son.

"Yes, I think so. Blaine's going to see if he can let him sleep for a while longer." She explained, and Cooper nodded again.

"He looked like he needed it…" He said, watching Julia's expression, but all she could do was nod helplessly.

"He's still asleep. I don't know when the last time he slept properly was." Both of them jumped despite the quiet volume of Blaine's voice as he came into the kitchen. He'd changed his shirt and jumper, but hadn't bothered with his trousers; still slightly wrinkled from sleeping in them, and his curly hair was equally sleep-rumpled.

"Blaine…" Julia started, but stopped short as she watched him shuffle across the kitchen to the barstool; flopping into the chair and resting his head in his hands for a moment.

"Blainey? What's going on?" Cooper asked, moving to sit in the chair next to him and speaking in a gentle voice reserved, Julia knew, only for Blaine.

"I… I can't tell you." Blaine muttered, looking up suddenly. "He asked me not to tell, mom… I can't break his trust like that, not now. He hasn't got…" Blaine choked slightly. "He's got no one, absolutely _no one_, and I can't… I can't." Blaine shook his head as if trying to clear it, clearly anguished. Slowly, Julia approached him.

"Is it bad?" She asked, and he met her gaze hopelessly, giving a jerky nod before taking a long, slow breath.

"It's… yeah. It's bad." He choked again, screwing his eyes up. Julia couldn't take it anymore, and cleared the remaining distance between them to encase him in a hug. He clung to her almost as hard as he'd been holding onto Kurt earlier.

"I don't know what to do." He murmured into her shoulder, so softly that Julia didn't think even Cooper, close as he was, had heard it.

She just held him tighter, echoing the sentiment in her mind. She didn't know what to do either.

* * *

><p>When Kurt woke up, he was alone.<p>

And god, if that didn't hurt for some inexplicable reason; like a burning coldness spreading through his veins, though he couldn't work out why for several minutes.

Then the events of the previous day came crashing down on him, leaving him curled up and gasping, mind reeling so badly he could hardly think.

_Blaine had- and he_ knew_ - run. Run now, get out before-_

_But he said he wouldn't tell- he kissed me he told me he loved me back- lying. Liars all of them are liars who could love- he_ said,_ he said he did, safe with Blaine, Blaine is safe, trust Blaine_

_But_

_No, can't, run get out don't let them hurt you don't nobody cares they don't understand nobody_

_But he said, Blaine, he's Blaine he wouldn't, he wouldn't he's _Blaine

_But everybody does why would he be different why but he's Blaine and - I trust Blaine._

"Kurt?" Kurt was crouched by the headboard, arms swung up in front of him and breath being dragged from him in ragged pants before he could even think, to find Blaine supporting his weight with one knee on the bed, his hand half outstretched towards him, palm upwards.

Blaine took a breath, shock flaring through his eyes, but he stopped moving; just standing there with his hand held out, like an offering.

Kurt stared at it.

Blaine didn't say anything, and neither did Kurt; both of them still and silent. Kurt's eyes flickered up to meet Blaine's for a moment, but he couldn't hold his gaze. There was too much… _compassion_ in those eyes. Too much caring.

_Too much to be real._

Kurt took a shallow breath, and reached out.

His hand slid into Blaine's, and Blaine's fingers curled around his; firm and very much _there_, his palm dry against Kurt's. Kurt held his breath.

Nothing happened.

He let it out in an explosion of air, and he sagged to his knees, all of the tension leaving his body. Blaine moved forward, continuing his earlier movement to sit beside Kurt on the bed, still holding his hand. Kurt stared at it, breathing still rapid and uncomfortable.

Hesitantly, Blaine reached up and smoothed his hand over Kurt's shoulder gently, so gently Kurt couldn't stand it and his face twisted.

"Don't." His voice was sharp, too sharp and brittle but it was all he had now; all he had, at the end of the day, to defend himself with. Blaine began to drop his hand, but Kurt shook his head frantically, glaring at him. "Don't- don't touch me- like that. Not like I'm some kind of- _piece of china_ - I'm not, I'm not going to _break_ don't treat me like that-" The words forced their way out, clumsy and sharp and uncoordinated before they were suddenly broken off by the sudden proximity of Blaine.

It took him a minute to work out that the other boy had hugged him. Properly hugged him; not held him like he was a breakable bird but more like he was… a person. Like he was real.

Kurt gulped, not sure how to respond, and Blaine drew back before he could decide; kneeling in front of him with his hands on Kurt's shoulders and his face so _close_, eyes right there. Kurt dropped his gaze again, refusing to meet that hazel.

"You're so strong, Kurt. So, so, strong." Kurt blinked, caught off-guard. Whatever he'd been expecting Blaine to say, that hadn't been it. "I don't think you're going to break, Kurt, that's not why I touched you like that." He explained gently. Kurt felt a surge of fire, a fire he could use to protect himself while he met Blaine's gaze.

"Then why?"

"Because I don't know how you're hurt. God, Kurt," Blaine sat back, scrubbing a hand over his face in a moment of vulnerability that startled Kurt out of his fire. "I don't even know if you want me to touch you at all, in any way. I just…" Blaine trailed off, dropping his hand and meeting Kurt's gaze with a yearning desperation. "I don't want to hurt you." Kurt blinked again.

"I want you to." Kurt murmured.

"What?" Blaine's head rose, gaze sharpening but confused. Kurt flushed.

"I-I want you to t-touch me. Not! Not like…" Kurt stumbled, blushing a fiery red, and when the double meaning of Kurt's words sank in Blaine's own blush nearly rivalled his. "I mean. Hugs. And- holding-" Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand, unable to quite put it to words, and Blaine squeezed back. Kurt took a deep breath. "I like it, when you- It makes me feel safe." Kurt got out, quietly, and Blaine squeezed his hand a little tighter.

"What about kissing?" Blaine asked, softly, his gaze open and non judgemental, like whatever Kurt's answer was it wouldn't matter. Kurt flushed even darker.

"I-I like- that. Kissing. That's, that's, good. Too." Blaine gazed at him for a moment, contemplative, before he leant in, hovering bare centimetres away.

"Okay?" Kurt nodded jerkily, and Blaine closed the distance, touching his lips to Kurt's once again. Kurt breathed out through his nose slowly, and pressed back.

Kissing someone, he'd always thought, would be kind of odd. Essentially, all you were doing was pressing a particularly sensitive piece of flesh to the other person's… he hadn't quite understood the appeal, especially when he'd discovered that sometimes tongues and saliva became involved - he just didn't think he'd ever find someone he'd want to do that with.

Kissing _Blaine_, as opposed to the vague 'someone' who'd been in his place whenever Kurt had thought about it before, was quite different.

Kissing Blaine felt… good. Soft and warm, and safe.

_Safe. _

_But- nothing's safe anymore._

* * *

><p>Blaine had begun the kiss, and he broke it as well; drawing back slowly and causing Kurt to half follow him for more.<p>

"Kurt. We need to talk." Kurt, eyes half shut and lips warm and tingling, stared at him in incomprehension, looking so flushed and beautiful that Blaine had to bite his lip to stop himself from just saying 'fuck it' and spending the rest of the time they had before school kissing him.

It took effort, but they really did need to talk. Blaine had realised that he'd sort of built it up in his head, labouring under the impression that if he could only get Kurt to tell him what was going on, everything could be fixed. Intellectually, he'd been aware that that wasn't the case, and he was even more aware of it now.

It felt like he'd been climbed up to the top of the mountain, only to find that he was going to have to slog down again.

With Kurt.

He refused to let Kurt do it by himself.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice; high and beautiful and wavering slightly and so fucking vulnerable and scared. Blaine smiled at him softly, trying not to cry but reassure instead.

"We just need to talk about some things, okay?" Blaine repeated, and slowly, Kurt nodded.

"Like what?" Blaine took a deep breath.

"Kurt. What are you going to do at the end of school today?" Kurt gazed at him, eyes narrowed suddenly, but there were no defences. Not the kind that Blaine had come to know so intimately over the past months, anyway.

"Go home." Blaine closed his eyes and willed himself not to be sick.

"And what's going to happen then, do you think?" Kurt's face hardened, the planes of his face shifting with the expression. But Blaine liked to think he knew Kurt pretty well by now, and he could see the flicker of fear in his eyes. But he also saw it when Kurt took a deep breath, seemingly muttering something to himself under his breath, and forced himself not to hide it.

"I don't know." Kurt answered quietly, the honesty in the words obviously hard for him. Blaine entwined their fingers again, squeezing his hands in comfort. "He doesn't like it when I come home late… and I-" Kurt broke off with a gulp, paling abruptly.

"Kurt?" Blaine inched forwards anxiously, searching Kurt's horror struck expression.

"I didn't go home last night. Fuck." Kurt let out a small sound that could have been a whimper, and Blaine squeezed his hands again.

"And you're still going to go home?" He asked, quietly, but Kurt had moved off the bed away from him in a burst of movement, stiff and glaring.

"Yes." Blaine stared at him, and Kurt swallowed. "Please, Blaine, don't. Don't try to- please. You, I trust you. Please don't." He whispered. Blaine swallowed, but nodded shortly, silently directing Kurt to his bathroom to freshen up and waiting behind in the quiet, perched on his bed.

He closed his eyes.

He loved Kurt. And he truly didn't want Kurt to be left with no one he trusted, no one to lean on. At the moment, he felt that he was the only one Kurt had let in; he _knew_ he was the only one Kurt had told. He didn't want to take that away.

But more than that, he didn't want Kurt to be hurt.

* * *

><p>Santana grabbed him just as he was about to go into his Chemistry class (a class he, sadly, did not share with Kurt) and yanked him with surprising strength down the hall and into a closet.<p>

He felt that there was probably a joke in the situation somewhere, but he really wasn't in the mood to try and find it.

"Alright, Anderson. Spill." He stared at her.

"I can't."

"Bull. Why can't you?" Santana spoke as if her words were knives and she was trying to dissect him. It was rather disconcerting.

"Because he asked me not to." He replied, and Santana swore again, staring at him like she couldn't believe he was that stupid.

"You're going to let him get hurt, cause even if I don't know the details I know that that's what's happening, whether he's doing it or someone else, because he _asked you not to tell_!? That's like the number one thing that victims say, you don't _listen_ to them!" She screeched at him, he winced, but there was still so much anger left over inside, left over from the fury he felt at the sheer unfairness of Kurt's situation, fuelled by the complete and utter hatred he felt for Kurt's- that man, for having the nerve to hurt someone, especially _his Kurt_.

"What else do you want me to do!" He yelled back, and she took a step back, eyes widening. "What the fuck else am I supposed to _do_, Santana? He has _no one_. Absolutely _no one_ he can trust, _no one_ he can turn to, _no one_ he'll talk to, except me. What am I supposed to do? I don't want him to lose that, Santana. He can't lose that, it'd… I don't know what it'd do to him." He was panting with the exertion of letting it out, but he managed to get himself under control a little; stepping back and closing his eyes.

"Jesus. It's really bad." Blaine gave a jerky nod, and heard Santana gasp quietly.

"What… Blaine, you can't just leave him in whatever the hell this situation is." Blaine tipped his head back.

"I know." He whispered. Santana's perplexity was almost palpable.

"So… what are you going to do?" She sounded genuinely questioning. He opened his eyes and met her gaze.

"I'm going to try and persuade him to at least… avoid some of it. If I can do that, then I might be able to persuade him to tell someone else, or let me tell them. If that fails then…" He gave a half-helpless shrug, and ran his fingers through his (for once) un-gelled hair.

"I want him safe more than I want him to trust me." He admitted quietly, and Santana's face creased in sympathy.

"Burt Hummel." She suggested. His head jerked up.

"What?"

"You could go to him? He's Kurt's uncle, isn't he?" Santana shifted, as if uncomfortable with her own insight. "I mean… if Kurt's that uncomfortable with telling, then… it'd probably be best to go to someone he's at least close to, right?" Blaine stared at her, and managed to smile - the first smile he'd given to anyone except Kurt since yesterday.

"That's… that's a good idea. Thanks, Santana." She shrugged.

"No problem. I… Kurt's a good person. He doesn't deserve to be hurt."

* * *

><p>Kurt's brain was in even more turmoil than it had been the previous evening - which in retrospect, didn't actually surprise him.<p>

Last night, he'd been exhausted both physically and emotionally, drained from crying and spilling everything. He was surprised his brain had been engaged enough to let him form semi-coherent sentences, never mind fully process the situation.

He still hadn't had time to fully process the situation, to be honest, but he wasn't sure he was ever going to.

It felt like he was being torn in two.

There was Blaine; _Blaine_, Blaine whom he loved, trusted. Blaine who made him feel safe like nothing had since his mom, Blaine who, he knew, would handle the telling if Kurt only asked. Blaine who could save him, make him safe again.

But that was unpredictable. What the fuck happened to kids like him, kids in his situation? He didn't know. He'd never thought about it; obviously he was just going to stay at home, stay with his father forever. The idea of a future that was different hadn't been comprehensible to his eight-year old mind, and it was still a difficult concept to grasp. Despite his determination to stay alive, what exactly that entailed beyond surviving was a mystery. He'd never realised that there might be a difference between- between 'living' and 'surviving', had never considered that until Blaine-

"_I want more than just surviving for you, Kurt."_

But what did that _mean_?

He couldn't think about it too much. It hurt, actually hurt to think about what would happen if he let Blaine-

If he went home, his father would beat him up again. He'd be angrier than Kurt had ever seen him.

But eventually, that would end. It was… not safe. It wasn't safe, nothing was safe anymore. But it was familiar. He knew what would happen, he knew how to survive that, knew intimately how to get through it.

What he didn't know, was what he would do if he let himself get- if he admitted that he-

He needed help.

Kurt might be stubborn, but he wasn't stupid.

He'd known, he'd realised, eventually, that his situation wasn't- normal. That it shouldn't have happened.

What he hadn't known, hadn't realised until he'd watched the play of horror, fear, anger and compassion playing across Blaine's features, was just how _wrong_ it was, or at least how _wrong _Blaine had seemed to find it.

Blaine found it-

Abominable. Horrific.

They weren't words that Kurt had ever thought to apply to his situation before.

All day, the inner turmoil continued; his mind wavering between one decision and the other; torn and tangled with reasons and contradictions and overriding it, overwhelming _fear_.

Whichever he chose, he was terrified of the outcome.

* * *

><p>Blaine walked into Glee with a heavy heart.<p>

He'd been unable to get Kurt to open up about it again, or even really talk much at all. His- friend? Or were they boyfriends?_ Not important right now, Anderson. _- had been clammed up all day, and the only reason Blaine hadn't pushed it yet was because he could see the inner decisions being warred and thought over in his eyes, could see him trying to decide what do do.

If he hadn't come to a decision by the end of Glee club though, Blaine was going to push. He sat, the seat beside him empty and waiting, and thought. He didn't think Kurt could handle him forcing Kurt physically, didn't think _he_ could handle it. He could hardly believe he'd even thought of it. He didn't want to put Kurt through that in any capacity.

Which left him with begging, wheedling, guilting even. He wasn't defenceless. He _would_ help the boy he loved.

That decision made, he sat up, steely determination in his heart, and waited for Kurt.

But Kurt never came.

* * *

><p>Kurt stood outside his house, tremors already wracking his frame, one hand clenched around his house key.<p>

He opened the door.

Walked in.

Looked up, saw his father sitting at the bottom of the stairs, watched him passively as he shut the door behind him. He stood up, bottle swinging from his hand.

Kurt blinked.

Dropped his bag to the floor.

Then pain exploded behind his eyelids, lighting up his body like fireworks and burning just as badly, getting hotter and more explosive as time wore on. He closed his eyes, and floated.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry Blaine, I'm so sorry. I couldn't do it. I wasn't brave enough… I'm so sorry._

The last thing he was aware of was a vague sense of self-disgust at his own cowardice, before everything went black.

As soon as Blaine realised that Kurt wasn't coming, icy fingers of dread closed around his heart. Ignoring Mr Schue - who_ cared_ about Glee club right now- he stood, swinging his bag up onto his shoulder and turning to Santana, the only other person who might come close to understanding how _urgent_ this situation was desperately.

"He's not coming." He said, and Santana's eyes widened; she was on her feet instantly.

"Blaine? Santana? Who's not coming?" Mr Schue cut in, looking reproachful and confused.

"Kurt." Santana snapped almost absentmindedly, keeping her gaze locked on Blaine's, thoughts whirring behind her dark eyes.

"I'll go see if I can find him. He might not have left the school-" Blaine only realised his slip when Santana let out a loud swear, earning herself reprimands from both Mr Schue and Rachel which were ignored.

"It's- his _home_?" She breathed, horror twisting her features as she put the pieces together, a part of her letting go of half formed ideas about bullies dying, but Blaine couldn't focus on that right now, there was no _time_-

"Please, Santana, not now, we need to find him-" Blaine was already moving towards the door, and Santana followed, both of them ignoring the questions from their glee club behind them.

"I know where Burt Hummel's is, I'll go there. Look for him and meet me there." Santana rapped out, reaching for her phone and typing in the Hummel's address to text to Blaine. Blaine's face slackened slightly with relief at having some kind of plan, but his features tightened the next instant and, with a sharp nod, he ran off.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, we're in trouble." Blaine, driving with one hand and holding his phone to his ear with the other - yes, he was well aware of how stupid that was but right now he couldn't bring himself to <em>care<em> -

"What?"

"Burt isn't home."

"Fuck." Blaine resisted the urge to close his eyes; concentrating on the road through the wave of dread that hit him.

"What do we do?" Santana's voice cracked slightly, the only sign of just how much she cared for Kurt, and how desperate she was to help him. Blaine gave up on driving and pulled into a side street, swerving messily into an empty space and running his hands through his hair as he thought.

"Carole?"

"Who?"

"Finn's mom. She's dating Burt. He might be with her, or at the very least she might know where he is." Blaine suggested, too wound up to even feel relief at the possibility. Santana let out a little sigh.

"Do you know Finn's address?"

"Yeah, I've been round with Mike a couple of times." He started the car again, heart thumping from his adrenaline high, barely acknowledging Santana's short farewell as the call disconnected.

* * *

><p>Burt and Carole had gone out for what Finn called 'date night', and wouldn't be back until late - later than Blaine's curfew.<p>

"Santana…" She turned to him, sitting in the passenger seat of his car - the seat where Kurt had sat just yesterday - with an equally hopeless expression.

"What can we do Blaine? Burt's not picking up, Finn doesn't know where he is and by the time he gets back it's going to be late - I can't be out that late, and I don't think you can either." Blaine shut his eyes, trying to resist the urge to slam his head back against his head rest.

"I don't know. Dammit!"

"We can't go to the Police." Santana stated, voice hard and almost unfeeling, but when Blaine opened his eyes and turned to look at her, he could see the stifled agony in her eyes. She might be putting on a front, but she felt just as frustrated and worried about this, about Kurt, as he did, even with less information.

"Kurt wouldn't want us to… but, Santana, I'm not sure what else-"

"No."

"What- Santana-"

"_No_. Blaine. We can't." Her expression was hard, furious. Blaine was bewildered. He didn't want to go to the Police either, but he wanted Kurt safe. He _needed_ Kurt to be safe… at this point, he was so desperate with worry for the other boy that he was barely holding it together.

"Why?" He asked softly. Not demanding; he didn't have enough energy for that, not when Santana was that angry.

"Because they're fucking _useless_, that's why!" Santana exploded. "You think Burt Hummel didn't go to the police when he got threatening phone calls telling him that his nephew was a fag? The police are just as idiotic and homophobic as the rest of this dumb shit town. As soon as they hear who it is, they're not gonna give a crap. Child abuse especially, cause it's fucking hard to prove without the victim confessing, and they're hardly going to storm his house when they hear who it is.

"You think Kurt would admit to it in the state he's in right now? I saw him yesterday, Blaine, and the only reason he told you is 'cause he broke down." Blaine stared at her, feeling even more hopeless than before - he wasn't familiar with Lima's police department (not that he was particularly any more familiar with the cops in Westerville, but still), and Santana looked serious.

"Then… we'll have to wait." Blaine swallowed thickly, bile rising in his throat. "There's nothing else to do but wait." _And hope._ He added silently. _Hope that his father isn't too angry - isn't so angry that he takes it further-_ Blaine had to stop that thought in its tracks so he wasn't sick.

Being hit by his father was bad enough, but if Mr Eleryn got out of control - if he took it further - beat him up-_ no._

Blaine couldn't think about Kurt being hurt like he'd been, couldn't stand thinking about Kurt being beaten as opposed to just being hit. Being hit was bad enough, made him feel sick and angry and out of control- if something worse happened, Blaine would never forgive himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Um... hi? So, if everyone could remember that 'no-killing-the-author' agreement round about now, that'd be awesome... XP<strong>

**Sorry for the delay - I was on holiday, plus this was a particularly hard chapter to try and make as angsty as humanly possible while still keeping it relatively realistic... It's quite a delicate situation right now, which is why I split it here (originally this was going to go on for much longer). I'd really appreciate your input on how you found this chapter - make sense? Let me know!**

**Also - THANK YOU ALDHSFAKLSDHAKFSDA FOR ALL THE LOVELY AMAZING BEAUTIFUL REVIEWS - YOU GUYS ROCK AND IF I COULD I WOULD GIVE YOU ALL CAKE OR COOKIES OR SOMETHING - unfortunately, I can't, so I'll just have to give you the next chapter asap, huh? ;D**

**My beta is also away with no wifi, so she hasn't gotten her hands on it yet - she will be editing it when she gets back, but if you see any errors, please don't hesitate to point them out to me!**

**Thank you again, and please review! **


	17. Chapter 16

**So, somebody asked me to do a 'here's what you've missed' at the beginning of this chapter, and considering my own abysmal memory and the fact I often don't update for months (-.-'), it didn't seem like a bad idea. So, I'm giving it a shot - be warned, due to my inability to write short things, this is gonna be long:**

**(And my beta thinks I'm dumb for doing a summary of the whole thing, so if you share her opinion, by all means skip some of it.)**

**Blaine transfers to McKinley and is instantly captured by mysterious student Kurt; tall, stylish, gay and bullied, it (thankfully) wouldn't take a genius to see that Kurt's hurt and hiding. What Blaine doesn't know is that what happens to Kurt at school (locker slams, slushies, etc.) is absolutely nothing in comparison to what happens at Kurt's home. Horrifically abused by his only remaining parent, Kurt goes through hell not only surviving the beatings, but also hiding his injuries.**

**Although it goes against all of Kurt's instincts to let Blaine close, he can't help falling for the other boy, and they form a close friendship. Disaster strikes when Burt, Kurt's uncle and the only trustworthy adult he knows, has a heart attack and ends up in the hospital in a coma. Carole, Finn's mom and Burt's recent girlfriend, starts to suspect that all is not well with Kurt, but he escapes her before she can do anything.**

**Blaine is there to comfort him, and so (albeit in their typically odd and slightly rude way) is the Glee club. Burt manages to persuade Kurt to join, unaware that the extra time after school is resulting in more bruises for Kurt. Kurt forms closer bonds with the girls in the club; admitting his feelings for Blaine to them and survives both his mother's birthday, and a Friday night dinner invaded by the Hudsons. **

**Things then go to hell in a hand basket when Kurt and Blaine are attacked by Karofsky and Azimio; two ignorant jocks. Blaine struggles with flashbacks to his beating after Sadie Hawkins and is helped by Cooper, while Kurt has to deal with suspicions over his practiced ease at defending himself.**

**A particularly bad day results in Kurt's haven (the attic in his house with all his mother's belongings in it) being destroyed by his father and he is shoved down the stairs; badly breaking his arm in the process. To Kurt's confusion, his father takes him to hospital rather than leaving him there bleeding, but what happens when Blaine finds out quickly wipes all thoughts of that from his mind.**

**Desperate to speak to him and annoyed that Kurt is once again avoiding him, Blaine finally manages to catch Kurt leaving school; grabbing hold of his 'good' arm to prevent him from running away. The wince this incites in Kurt causes Blaine to roll up his jumper sleeve, to find finger shaped bruises and long scars that look self-inflicted.**

**Santana also sees, but reluctantly realising that Kurt's not responding to her, she leaves. Alone with Blaine, Kurt breaks down and eventually truthfully answers his questions; telling him that his dad hits him "**_**because I'm not good enough!**_**", explaining why he tried to kill himself and lastly, being stunned by a confession (and a kiss) from Blaine. After making Blaine promise not to tell, he falls asleep in his arms.**

**Last Chapter:**** Caught between breaking Kurt's trust and leaving him in his horrific situation, Blaine tries to persuade Kurt to tell someone else, or at the very least not go home; offering to do the talking so Kurt doesn't have to. Kurt, confused and terrified, tries to decide what to do, but in the end decides to stick with what he knows; returning home. Frantic, Blaine enlists Santana's help and they scramble around Lima trying to find first Kurt, and then Burt Hummel for help, but fail. They are left with nothing left to do but wait, and hope.**

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIXTEEN<p>

If Blaine slept that night, he didn't notice. With what seemed like more coffee in his veins than blood, he showed up to school the next day ridiculously early; waiting in the parking lot with ever increasing anxiety for Kurt to show up, hoping and hoping, with Santana next to him in an equally agitated state.

They stayed there, hands in their pockets and gazes scanning the emptying parking lot until well into their first classes before they were forced to admit that Kurt wasn't coming.

* * *

><p>Santana decided that considering the current situation, Algebra could probably survive without the presence of one Blaine Anderson, and so gently guided him through the emptying hallways to the choir room, hoping that he wouldn't faint.<p>

Blaine certainly looked in danger of doing so, she thought, eyeing his pale face as she managed to get him to sit down. Hesitantly, she dropped into the seat beside him.

"We can't get off school grounds easily right now, Coach Sylvester's on duty," she muttered, unsure if Blaine could really hear her but so uncomfortable with the silence that she had to speak.

"Lunch," Blaine spoke, his voice barely audible and croaky. She started at the sudden noise and turned to him; wary of the apathy she could see in his face. "We go to Burt Hummel's then."

Santana nodded."Are you… what do you feel for Kurt?" She asked softly. She'd been curious about the obvious feelings growing between the boys for a while now. Perhaps it wasn't the time to ask, but Blaine looked in danger of collapsing, and they obviously weren't going to class any time soon.

"I love him," Blaine replied, his body abruptly sagging into his chair, eyes slipping shut while his face remained deathly pale. She took a small breath.

"Does he know that?"

Blaine nodded tersely. "I confessed, I guess. And I kissed him. He kissed me back." Blaine said, voice quiet and exhausted.

"I'm happy for you both." Santana realised, with some surprise, that she genuinely was. "You deserve each other."

They descended into silence after that.

Santana didn't know the details of what was happening to Kurt; only that he was being hurt, by someone else, at his home. She could put the pieces together.

But she didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think that Kurt had been- no. Couldn't think about it.

So she sat there in silence beside Blaine, and tried not to think while they watched the clock's hands move.

* * *

><p>Burt Hummel loved his nephew.<p>

Sure as hell didn't understand him, and half the time didn't have the first clue how to talk to him, but he loved him, with all his heart.

He and Elizabeth hadn't been unusually close for siblings; they bickered and argued and disagreed. But they were brother and sister, and they'd also agreed and teamed up to prank their parents and helped each other out. They'd been family, and Hummel's took family seriously.

When he lost her, it had hit him hard. Elizabeth had been all that he loved in the world; since he was an unmarried man with no close friends, focused on running his business. Little Kurt had been the only thing left of his dear sister; the only family he had left that he truly loved.

He had another sister, Natalie, but at seven years older than him and five years older than Lizzie, they hadn't been close. After Lizzie's funeral, Nat had packed her bags, upped and left. He didn't blame her, particularly, but her apparent abandonment did not endear him to put much effort into staying in touch.

Which meant Kurt was his everything.

Recently, he was starting to think that Carole and maybe even her son, Finn, might be joining Kurt in that special place in his heart, in their family, or at the very least coming close to it, but they would never be more important than Kurt.

Kurt came first, no matter what.

Which meant that when two distraught teenagers turned up on his doorstep around lunchtime (when they most definitely should've been in school) and started talking over each other about needing to find Kurt, Burt didn't know what to think.

His first thought was probably something along the lines of _oh god, not Kurt _-

"Alright, alright, quiet!"

Both of them shut up immediately.

"Can I get your guys' names?" He asked, after a deep breath to try and get a handle on the situation. He didn't let himself try to sort out what he could remember from their earlier shouting.

"Santana." The girl said, before jerking her head towards the guy, "and he's Blaine."

Blaine nodded a little, and now that Burt was looking at him, he noticed that he looked horribly pale and terrified.

"Right." Burt took another deep breath, still eyeing Blaine worriedly. "Now can _one_ of you tell me what all this is about? And why you're not in school, while you're at it?" He tried to look severe, but really the kids looked so upset he couldn't bring himself to try too hard.

Santana looked at Blaine for a moment, before clearly deciding that the boy wasn't going to speak and turning back to Burt.

"Mr Hummel, we have reason to believe that your nephew is hurt."

"Where?" He'd grabbed his coat almost as soon as she had finished speaking, scenarios of Kurt backed into a corner by bullies or homophobic assholes off the street - Burt hadn't honestly been too surprised when a fourteen year old Kurt had come out to him - before Santana held up a hand, her eyes hard. He stopped.

"Home." It was Blaine speaking, and god, Burt would be the first to admit he wasn't the mother-hen type but all he wanted to do was put this boy in bed with some hot chocolate.

Then the word sank in.

"_What?_"

Blaine gulped, eyes rimmed with red, and met Burt's gaze desperately. "Please, sir, he went home, I couldn't stop him and he didn't come into school this morning and we can't get hold of him and- please." Burt blinked, before he was moving to his car, motioning the two teens to come with him. He could get the story of how his injured nephew had ended up going home without help on the way, but he wasn't going to waste any more time.

Not with Kurt injured.

Not with Kurt needing him.

* * *

><p>The silence in the car was almost suffocating, but Blaine barely noticed. He didn't know what to think. He <em>couldn't<em> think, because if he allowed himself to think about what had most likely happened he was going to be sick.

He sat in the passenger seat - he had a vague notion that Santana had shoved him there - with his hands curled loose in his lap as Burt Hummel drove them to Kurt's house, and blamed himself, cursed himself for letting Kurt go, for allowing Kurt to return, in an endless loop that he knew wasn't helping anyone but he couldn't seem to break out of.

"What happened?"

Blaine jumped-_ Kurt was jumpy, always so nervous around other people because he was always half expecting violence _- and turned to look at Burt, shaking the thoughts away.

"I…" he trailed off, gaze flickering back to Santana pleadingly. He didn't think he could talk about it right now, not when Kurt still wasn't safe, not when Kurt could be seriously hurt.

"Kurt has finger-shaped bruises on his arm. He wouldn't tell me how he got them, and we were going to try and make sure he didn't go home without getting help, but he did, and we couldn't find him. He wasn't picking up his phone, and he never told us where he lived, and we tried to find you last night but you were out, Mr Hummel." Santana explained, voice obviously wary and from the tightening around Burt's eyes, he could hear it too; clearly guessing that Santana was withholding information.

Silence pervaded the following minutes, until, with a sigh as they stopped at the lights, Burt spoke again.

"I can tell you're not tellin' me everything. I don't know why that is, but I know my nephew. Kurt's real private… I'm guessing he asked you not to tell." Blaine nodded, and Burt appraised him for a minute. "Stubborn kid. He's always been independent, you know. How do you help a kid like that? God knows. I certainly don't." Burt shook his head with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his head under his baseball cap in agitation.

When they set off driving again, Blaine could've sworn they were going even faster.

* * *

><p>Kurt's house was thin, and small - smaller than Burt's house. It wasn't <em>drab<em>, exactly, but it wasn't happy either. Maybe Blaine was projecting his feelings onto the building because he knew what had happened inside, at least a little of it, but he couldn't help but feel that the house had a distinctly malevolent air.

From the slightly shaky look on Santana's face, she was of a similar opinion. Burt just looked sad.

With a deep breath, he raised his hand and made to knock on the door before suddenly pausing, glancing back at Blaine and Santana.

"Kurt's dad," he began, and Blaine couldn't contain a flinch at that word, "he has a bit of a drinking problem. Just so you're warned," he said gruffly, turning back to the door. Santana's indignant squawk cut him off.

"And you _left Kurt_ with him?" She yelped, and Burt glared at her.

"Kurt wouldn't leave, and I haven't got all that much legal power when it comes to him, 'specially as Kurt wants to stay. If I could've… if Kurt had let me, I would've gotten him out of there in an instant." Burt glowered at them, obviously quite insulted by Santana's accusation, and she lowered her gaze in apology.

Blaine thought dizzily that it was so _Kurt_ to refuse help like that, to keep people out. _No more. I can't let you do that anymore Kurt, I can't._

Burt knocked.

Silence. Nobody came to the door to answer, and with an anxious frown, Burt knocked again, louder.

There was a crash from somewhere inside the house that made what little control Blaine had over his ability to breathe completely disappear, and then more silence, before the door was cracked open and a wary-looking blue eye appeared, and Blaine couldn't stop himself from taking half a step forwards, his breath exploding from his lungs with a gasp.

"Kurt!" Instantly, the eye widened, and the door began to close.

Burt Hummel was having none of that though, and he was a lot stronger than Kurt was, if the way he instantly caught and stilled the door with one hand was any indication.

"Kurt. These guys here say you're hurt-"

"Get out! Go away!" Kurt's voice was high, thin- wavering, and what they could see of his face was unbearably panicked.

"Kurt, _please_." Blaine whispered, trying to catch Kurt's flitting gaze, but Kurt refused to meet his eyes; flicking glances towards the inside of the house worriedly. As if-

_As if he was afraid of someone inside._

Blaine felt sick again, choking on bile as he struggled to keep his coffee and the sandwich Santana had forced him to eat for lunch down.

"No- you need to _go_, go now or he'll- you need to leave,_ please_, Blaine, you _need_ to go, I can't-" Kurt hissed frantically, eyes twitching from person to person with the force of his panic, and Blaine could've sworn he felt his heart break again.

Burt shoved at the door, and Kurt disappeared behind it, trying to push it shut, much to Burt's obvious bewilderment and ever increasing worry, half-hissed, half-whispered pleas for them to _leave_ still reaching their ears around the door.

Blaine slipped past Burt before the older man could say anything, jutting his hand into the gap between the door and its frame and firmly pushing the door open. He could hear Kurt more clearly now; hear his breath rattling in and out of his lungs in wet sounding gasps, as if Kurt was crying.

"No, no you _can't_, I _can't do this,_ Blaine, please no, you have to leave and-" his words were shaky, interspaced with half stifled noises that were definitely sobs. Blaine slipped inside the door and turned his head to find Kurt, stilling almost instantly when he caught sight of him, Kurt finally meeting his gaze with eyes that were tired, broken and filled with tears.

He was leaning against the door, where he'd sagged in defeat, painfully thin and wearing only baggy sweatpants and a loose, short-sleeved t-shirt.

Had you asked Blaine to picture Kurt in sweat-pants and a t-shirt only three days ago, he probably would have blushed at the image in his head before smartly informing whomever had asked that Kurt would never deign to wear something so simple.

Now, all he could do was stare, and think that he had been so terribly, terribly wrong.

Kurt's father didn't _hit_ him. He didn't_ just_ _hit _him.

Kurt's face - _how had he never noticed Kurt's cheekbones were that prominent, how how how had he not _seen_ the gauntness, the sallow tint- __**how**_ - had two red scrapes down the right side of his face, and his right eye was ringed by a bruise so dark it was almost black. His nose, miraculously, didn't look broken, but his jaw, also shadowed by purpling bruises, looked slightly crooked.

His neck had long, thin scrapes, jagged and reminding Blaine with abrupt painful clarity of the way his mom's hand had looked while healing from cuts caused by broken glass, littered along the left side in deliberate markings.

The forearm that Blaine could see, the one that wasn't covered by a cast, was ringed with the same bruises Blaine and Santana had seen, but the bare flesh now had a red, sore tint to it, and above his elbow, peeking out guiltily from his shirt sleeve, was the end of an obviously old, worn bandage.

Blaine took a step forward, barely able to breath, when the world seemed to snap around him and he was by Kurt, his hands ghosting over his face for a moment as tears pooled in his own eyes, fingers shaking.

"_Kurt_," he choked a little, and Kurt stared up at him, tears sliding noiselessly down his cheeks, over the bruises and scrapes.

"I-" Kurt coughed, and then Burt decided that enough was enough and firmly swung the door open wider so he could enter, Santana right behind him.

Blaine was quick to tug Kurt out of the way, encircling him with gentle arms almost without thinking about it, as his brain whirred and he tried to figure out _how had he missed this, how had they all missed __**this**__, how?_

"Kurt?" Burt had frozen, his eyes wide, as he took in his nephew's shaking form; skin paler than he remembered it, bones more prominent than he'd ever noticed, more flesh than he'd ever seen Kurt display bared. Flesh covered by bruises and cuts and scratches.

"I… you need to leave." Kurt's voice was scratchy, tears still overflowing from his eyes, and he began to push weakly at Blaine's hold.

"Kurt, we're not leaving you here," Blaine said softly, but he let Kurt escape his arms. Kurt backed away, wrapping his arm around his torso, looking fragile and hurt and sad and it _hurt_ to see him like this, his Kurt who was so beautiful hurt like this-

"Kiddo, what's going on?" Burt's voice was loud, louder than either Kurt's or Blaine's had been, and Kurt flinched, his gaze flickering towards a doorway in what could only be described as terror.

"No, you need to go- go _away_!" he spat at them again, glaring through his tears and still looking so fucking _scared_.

"No, Hummel." Kurt started, gaze flying to Santana in shock.

"No?" he repeated, rocking back on his heels a little.

"No." She replied, voice firm. Kurt shook his head, and to Blaine's horror, he began to _laugh_; a dry, rattling noise that was closer to sobbing than anything else.

"You need to get _out_!" Kurt yelled, eyes wide and tearful, backing away from them again looking half-crazed-

"Why?" Blaine asked, soft, and was suddenly reminded of when he'd asked that question before; with a Kurt who physically looked whole and perfect but whose eyes had been just as haunted, just as scared, tied to a chair with a scarf in a light-filled choir room-

And just like that time, Kurt met his gaze and whispered; "He'll kill me if he sees you. He'll _hurt_ you." Blaine was barely aware of Burt stiffening behind him, of Santana's whispered '_oh my god_' as he stared at Kurt, at the boy he loved, and another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The _boy_ he loved. He, another boy.

"Oh god." He breathed, still staring at Kurt, Kurt whose mouth had twitched up into a mockery of a smile- oh _god_ -

"_My father is an alcoholic bastard who hates me,"_

Homophobic. That was the word Kurt had missed out, Kurt who would still look effeminate, and still have his beautiful high voice, no matter what his sexuality or taste in clothes was. With that single piece of information, that single clue, more and more pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, all of the bits and pieces of information, all of the things he had put together with Kurt's confession but not let himself consider properly-

_Eyes dazed by more pain that Blaine would have thought possible from just a locker slam-_

Old bruises- had Kurt been injured already from his-

_Yelps and winces when he moved a certain way, jerking awake with a hiss before stilling instantly-_

Injuries, _god_, he was hurt for all of that time, in pain whenever he moved.

"_He doesn't like it when I come home late," Looking at the clock with a weary resignation at the end of every glee club, anxiously watching the time pass every time they'd forced him into the choir room before that-_

Had they caused some of it? Had they pressured him into staying late, into making _him_ angry, into more beating- more _violence_ for Kurt?

"_Kurt, were you… showering?" He nodded, looking sheepish and wary._

"_Can I ask… why?" A shrug._

"_It's just easier." Why was it easier-_

He doesn't feel safe enough to shower at home.

"_I don't like violence."_

Oh god, of _course_ he didn't, he faced it in the one place he should have felt safe-

"… _and taking care of Uncle Burt, and… the… the bullying, it's got a bit worse recently,"_

Taking care of Burt. Staying out later. It's been getting worse. _He's_ been getting worse. Not the _school_ bullies. The other bully, the biggest bully-

"_It's just been piling up and up and up,"_

What had been piling up? Stress? Or bruises? And, oh god he'd said-

"_You don't have to push yourself so hard… it hurts, sometimes, doesn't it?"_

Sometimes. It hurts, sometimes.

"_I ran into a doorframe." "None of us were really in our right minds," "Is this what you meant? When you said that it healed… wrong?"_

His father had _broken his rib_, Kurt hadn't run into a _doorway_ Kurt wasn't that clumsy and-

"_What happened?" Kurt with a cast on his arm-_

"_Fell down the stairs."_

Had he?

Why hadn't he asked, why hadn't he done more, why hadn't he _seen_ it, why-

Because he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to face the possibility that that kind of thing existed, hadn't wanted to think about how _damaged_ Kurt would be by experiencing something like that for -

"… _there was a funeral. But then everyone left, and it was just me and _him_,"_

"_My… my mother, she had just… died. About two months before my ninth birthday."_

Since his mother had died.

_For eight years._

Blaine bent double and threw up.

* * *

><p>Kurt began to laugh again as Blaine straightened, wiping his mouth, tears mixing with saliva and his blue eyes wide with moisture. He shouldn't be laughing, not in a situation like this, but he just couldn't help it; absolutely aware of the hysterical edge to his laughter, aware of his father stirring deeper in the house, aware of the small vibrations beneath his bare feet, the small vibrations he'd been feeling for ever since his father had chucked a bottle at him and told him to '<em>answer the goddamned door<em>'-

He was still laughing when his father shoved him to the side with a drunken, slightly off shove. He didn't resist it, and so he went crashing to the ground, laughter interrupted but not stopped by a wheezing gasp when his broken arm slammed into the floor and sent a sharp, jagged spike of pain up it.

He lay on the floor, hurting that all too familiar hurt, and laughed, tears still running down his face.

* * *

><p>"What have you done to him." It wasn't a question. It was a demand, and although his voice was quiet, it was by no means gentle.<p>

Burt Hummel was angry.

He was furious.

He was _hating_.

He stared at that man, the man who had married his sister, fathered his nephew. Once fairly attractive, drink and age and depression and worn him away to the sagging, overweight figure before him now; his hair thin and balding, face unshaved and ingrained with beer stains, eyes bloodshot, scraggly beard still damp in some places. His clothes hung off his large frame, and odd juxtaposition between baggy clothing and bulging fat.

He was drunk, drunk off his ass. He didn't look like he'd been fully sober for years.

What did that mean for Kurt?

He noticed vaguely that Blaine was by his nephew; cradling him in his arms and crying- clearly he'd figured it out, but Burt wanted _answers_.

He wanted to know who the fuck had hurt his little boy.

"What. Have. You. _Done?_" he roared, and Kurt's father stumbled back a step, blood shot eyes confusedly wandering between Kurt and Burt.

"Burt," he said with surprise, a frown furrowing his face and momentarily replacing the rage. "Thought you were in the hospital."

"I got out," he replied succinctly, glaring, and was satisfied when he gulped a little.

Brian never had been able to best Burt in a fist fight.

"I was jus' givin' the fag what he deserved!" He slurred angrily, raising the bottle in his hand again, eyes flickering to where Kurt was still _laughing_ in Blaine's arms. At the sight, he stilled, and Kurt gasped.

"Oh-"

"Who's this then? Who've you dragged in, fag? This your little fagotty boyfriend?" He sneered, and Blaine tightened his hold on Kurt, who seemed to have completely snapped-

"I don't know. I kissed him though. On the mouth, kissed him, another boy, and you can't even do anything about it anymore because there's nothing you haven't already done-"

Brian gave an incomprehensible roar and lurched forwards, having apparently forgotten there were other people watching, this time.

_This time_.

Burt felt quite ready to kill someone at the thought, but had to be satisfied with the crack Brian's nose made when his fist connected with it. Brian tumbled to the floor, Blaine scooting backwards with Kurt, away from Kurt's father as his head cracked against the floor and he grew still.

Burt was panting, satisfaction burning through his veins along with his still lingering, still burning anger.

He didn't expect Kurt to start screaming.

* * *

><p>"Kurt!" Blaine tried to hold the struggling boy still in his arms, but Kurt was having none of it; twisting around and squirming, still letting out a high-pitched whining noise of obvious distress. His eyes had rolled back into his head, but before that they'd been fixed on his father, watching avidly as Burt had punched him.<p>

When he hit the floor, Kurt had begun to scream.

He didn't know why, and he didn't know how to help, struggling to contain him and stop him from hurting himself as Burt urgently yelled at Santana to call for an ambulance and knelt by them.

Both Blaine and Burt were talking to Kurt, trying to calm him down, but Kurt wouldn't calm.

He stopped struggling after about five long minutes, but he didn't stop whimpering, didn't stop crying, didn't stop pushing at Blaine's arms feebly from time to time, until the ambulance arrived and sedated him.

They lifted Kurt's finally limp body onto a stretcher, leaving Blaine sitting on the floor, mouth still tasting of vomit, forlorn and lost. He didn't look up until Burt gripped his shoulder.

"Come on, kid," Burt said, surprisingly gently, and Blaine went with him. Santana was standing by the door, white-faced, but she nodded when Burt asked her to go home.

Blaine waited for it, but Burt didn't ask him to leave as well, just steered him into the crowded back of the ambulance, fighting past the orderlies with firm words about 'family' until they relented.

Kurt lay unconscious on the gurney, skin pale in the fluorescent lighting and throwing his bruises into stark contrast.

Blaine stared at Kurt's limp hand. He made no move to take it.

* * *

><p><strong>Hellooooooo everybody! I'd just like to say, before you get out the pitchforks (why am I pleading my life so much lately? Oh, right, it's because I'm a horrible person and torture my characters) that the next chapter is coming soon and wouldn't you like to see all of these people recover? And we're getting a new character next chapter, and she's <em>awesome<em>. XD**

**A couple of things - Blaine. His thought process will be explained in more detail later on, but I just thought I'd clarify here - he didn't realise that Kurt was being beaten up. He thought his dad just hit him. And he had realised that the reason Kurt flinched at school was because of his father, it was just that this chapter is when it all really sank in just how badly Kurt's been hurt. Sorry if that was confusing!**

**Secondly, my beta would like me to ask if anybody else is with her shipping Burtian (Burt/Brian) - Don't even ask. I don't know how I put up with her either - (YES I AM STILL SCARRED FROM THOSE BURTIAN SNIPPETS IN THE MIDDLE OF MY ANGST THANK YOU) She is a deeply weird person.**

**But I love her and so of course THANK YOU so much for betaing this chapter for me, my lovely. RAINBOWS AND SPARKLY THINGS FOR YOU**

**THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH to all of the story alerters, favouriters and reviewers. I love you all so much, you all rock.**

**Also, it's my birthday soon. I'm going to be sixteen... as a birthday present, please review? XD**


	18. Chapter 17

**Last chapter of HiR, guys!**

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN<p>

Burt sat numbly in the hard plastic seat, Blaine next to him, shoulders hunched as he tried to process the fact that his little boy, his baby Kurt, had been horrifically abused for years right under is very nose.

He couldn't.

He couldn't believe that _nobody_ had seen it, that_ he _had seen it - that he'd _let Kurt get hurt_ - he'd _known_, he'd known that Brian had a drinking problem, _known_ it was far from a good environment for any child, much less a child recently bereaved of his mother, he'd_ known_.

But when Kurt had waved him off, protested that he was fine, he'd left it.

He'd left him.

Unable to help himself anymore, Burt buried his head in his hands and cried. Kurt would never forgive him.

* * *

><p>Blaine didn't react when Burt Hummel began to cry. He owed the man his privacy, at least, to repay him for letting Blaine stay. If he'd been forced to leave-<p>

He didn't think he could've handled it. He was close enough to the edge as it was, a slightly hysterical edge to his thoughts that he was aware of on a base level, but could not muster the effort to do anything about.

He thought his brain might have shut down, a little, because everything was flat and dull, and nothing existed in the world except waiting to hear that _Kurt was okay_.

"You knew." He jumped, turning his head to look at Burt, flinching away from the accusation in his eyes.

"Sir?" Blaine coughed, trying to clear his throat. Burt's expression didn't change.

"You knew he was being hurt." It was more of a statement than a question, and Blaine couldn't help but gulp; a nervous sweat prickling across his back.

"Yes. Not that it was… Please, sir, I had no idea it was that bad, you have to believe that I didn't know-" Burt shifted, his expression tightening and effectively cutting off Blaine's rapid babble.

"How did you know?" Burt asked. His voice was unreadable - Blaine had no idea whether Burt was accusing him anymore or not. Blaine's gaze dropped.

"He told me." He answered softly, feeling Burt stiffen beside him.

"He… he _told_ _you_?" Burt asked. Blaine might be dead on his feet and half-hysterical with worry, but he wasn't an idiot. He could hear the unspoken question; _he told you but not me?_ _Why?_ Before he could answer, Burt spoke again, eyes narrowing as he did so.

"Wait a minute… Kurt said something about… kissing." Burt frowned, and Blaine winced, both of them assaulted with the brief memory of exactly when Kurt had mentioned that. Despite the awful reminder, Blaine couldn't help but blush a little.

"Um… I- well, yes. I. That. Happened. Um." Burt studied him, eyes still hard and unreadable.

"You realise that he doesn't need something like this right now?" Burt asked, in that tone of voice that Blaine very much hated, the 'I am the adult and therefore know better than you' voice. He was the first to admit that there was a good reason children looked to adults for assistance, but Burt was coming dangerously close to being downright patronising about something he knew nothing about.

Blaine's mind suddenly seemed very clear, his body still as he met Burt's gaze fiercely. Burt clearly wasn't expecting that, for he shifted backwards, uncomfortable.

"You think I don't know that, sir? I was going to wait. Even without the details, I could see he was hurting." He hadn't meant that to be pointed, but Burt clearly found it so; flinching as his face fell into lines of guilt. _Good_. Blaine thought vindictively, but continued in his previous icy tones. "But when I finally got him to trust me, finally got him to tell me at least a little of what was going on… what would you have done? If someone you loved was screaming that nobody wanted them?" Blaine's voice dropped, echoes of Kurt's screams sounding in his ears, but if Burt's widening, horror filled eyes were any indication he'd heard every word.

"He… He doesn't need a relationship." Burt repeated, looking slightly dazed, and had Blaine been less tired he might have been able to muster the energy to be sympathetic. As it was, his temper was slipping through his fingers.

"What he needs is someone to _love _him." Blaine retorted, aware that his voice was rising but his ears were ringing and he was so _angry_, angry that Kurt had been hurt so badly, angry that Blaine had barely been able to help, angry at Burt, angry at the world. "He needs to know that someone _loves _him, that he's perfect, he needs to know that- this, this _thing_ doesn't make him any less beautiful, any less loved!" Blaine was flat out yelling now, fists clenched and- when had he stood up? Dizzy, he watched as Burt gaped up at him, opening his mouth to reply- but he was cut off.

"Burt Hummel, don't you_ dare_." Blaine twisted his head to see a woman in a nurse's uniform staring at Burt with folded arms. "This is not the time, Burt." She continued, moving closer to him as her voice softened, flicking a glance at Blaine; chest heaving, hair dishevelled and face marked with tear tracks.

"You love him?" was all Burt said, staring at Blaine intently as he nodded. Burt stared at him, before suddenly seeming to deflate all at once, gazing at Blaine with eyes that were suddenly very sad.

"Then… we can talk about it later." He said, and Blaine nodded stiffly, vaguely noting the approval in the nurse's eyes- Carole, her nametag said, Carole Hudson- oh, she must be Finn's mom, the woman Burt was dating, right-

"Sweetheart, have you phoned your parents?" Blaine jumped as Carole gently placed an arm on his shoulder, and shook his head numbly, allowing himself to be sat back in his seat. Carole surveyed him for a moment, before gently holding out her hand.

"Do you want me to phone home for you?" Blaine stared at her, trying to restart his brain-_mom_. Oh god, his _mom_, how could he have forgotten- she was going to _kill_ him, oh god- Frantically, he shook his head, fingers sliding over the smooth plastic of his phone in his pocket several times before he could get a grip on it, dialling the number with shaky fingers.

Julia picked up on the first ring.

"Blaine?"

"Mom-"

"Blaine, are you okay, where are you, why didn't you call, what's happened?" Her voice was near hysterical with panic. Blaine took a breath, closing his eyes and slumping a little in his seat, ignoring the steady gazes of Carole and Burt.

"I'm- I'm at the hospital, mom." He got out, only realising how his mom would interpret that when he'd already said it.

"You're- Blaine, what's going on, are you hurt?" He could hear her worry, hear the rustling as she moved, that familiar click as she snatched up her keys by the key-ring and scraped the metal across the table in the hall.

"It's- I'm fine, mom, it's not- it's not me. It's-" he choked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's Kurt." He heard his mom let out a long breath, before he heard the door opening and shutting.

"Hang on, baby. I'm coming."

* * *

><p>Julia burst into the hospital and reached the desk before doors had even swung shut behind her, determined stance and no-nonsense face on that ensured the man behind the counter was standing up to help her almost instantly.<p>

"Kurt Eleryn." She snapped at him, words coming short with worry for not only her baby boy but Kurt, that precious child she'd seen once and barely spoken to but had already fallen half in love with purely for the fact that Blaine loved him. The other half had simply been because Kurt was himself.

Cooper reached her just as the man finished typing into the computer, panting slightly and muttering under his breath about 'how the hell do women walk so fast in _heels_'.

"Are you a family member?" Julia fixed him with a glare. "No, but my son is with him." She said, narrowing her eyes slightly. She was quite prepared to go charging through the wards until she found Blaine, but she was hoping the receptionist would play nice.

With a gulp, he gave her the floor and where the waiting room was, but she was gone almost before he finished speaking, leaving Cooper to mutter a hasty thanks and dash after her again.

They didn't speak in the elevator. As soon as he had heard his mom's frantic questions, intermixed with Blaine's name, Cooper had been in the hallway, face tight and drawn; an expression that relaxed only minutely when he heard that it wasn't Blaine who was in hospital, but Kurt. She hadn't even asked if he was coming with her; it was a given. They were a family.

Blaine barely had time to look up before he was folded into this mother's arms, and he clung to her, trembling with the sudden overwhelming rush of emotions as Cooper surrounded him with his own arms; both of them holding him as he cried.

* * *

><p>Carole, used to the way the hospital worked and familiar with the routines, was the only one who noticed when a harried doctor came through the doors into the corridor. Quietly, she slipped from her seat next to Burt and made her way over to him, uncertain if he really was Kurt's doctor and unwilling to get anybody else's hopes up.<p>

Blaine sat, quiet, in between a pretty woman who was obviously his mother, if their shared hazel eyes and dark, curly hair was anything to go by, and another, attractive man who shared his jaw and nose; perhaps his brother or an uncle. Burt was only a few seats away from them, but he had buried his head in his hands approximately fifteen minutes ago and hadn't moved since. None of them spoke, not even to introduce themselves; unaware of anything about each other, they sat united by their worry for one boy.

"Doctor?" The man turned towards Carole as she approached, flickering a glance back towards the family she had come from.

"Ah, are you the family of Kurt Eleryn?" He asked. Blaine's head jerked up, Burt straightening in almost the exact same moment. She nodded, gesturing back towards the people behind her. With a short nod, he followed her to them, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Hi. I'm Dr Nicols, are you Mr Eleryn's father?" Everybody flinched at the word, as Burt stood.

"No. _No_. I'm his uncle." Dr Nicols, as the nearest available surgeon, didn't know the circumstances surrounding Kurt's injuries; he would have been told nothing more than the fact his patient had been beaten, if the way Kurt had been rushed here was any indication, but Carole was glad when he didn't push; merely nodding.

"He'll be assigned a doctor more suited for his treatment now that he's stable, but for now I can take you to him and give you a run up of his injuries and how he's doing?" He shot a questioning look at them all, before leading them down the hall when they all nodded back at him.

Nobody said anything when Blaine and his family followed them.

Dr Nicols lead them through two sets of doors and into a much quieter area of the hospital, stopping outside a door to glance at them briefly, before entering. Carole had to turn away for a moment, used as she was to injuries as a Nurse, nobody could have been stoic in the face of the sight that greeted them.

Blaine made an inhuman noise and was by Kurt's bedside a second later, a shaking hand reaching out to gently brush against Kurt's hair as tears began to slip down his cheeks. He was still trembling, Carole noted, when his mother reached him and forced him to sit down.

Burt, however seemed frozen by the doorway, eyes transfixed by the sight in front of him.

Kurt lay, pale even against the white of the hospital sheets, in the centre of the room; soft, pale green blankets tucked around his abdomen. His left arm was wrapped in an even larger cast, more bulky than the last due, Carole suspected, to some kind of pin or support. His face was pale, bruises and cuts stark against his skin, the shadows under his eyes so deep they seemed permanently carved there.

"His injuries are serious, but he's stable now." Dr Nicols said quietly from his place at the foot of Kurt's bed. Gently, Carole reached out a hand to hold Burt's, leading him to Kurt's bedside shakily. "The surgery was mostly to reset his arm, which has been under severe strain since it was first set. We also had to set and tape his ribs, and set his jaw back in place. There was a small infection in a few of his cuts, so he's on antibiotics - it should clear right up. Right now, it's best to keep him sedated for the pain, but sometime tomorrow we might be able to let him wake up a little." The doctor continued, his voice calm and detached. In a murmur, Carole thanked him and assured him that she could handle it, and he left.

She sat beside Burt, holding his hand, until well after midnight, when her shift ended and she had to go home to Finn. She'd managed to get a brief description of what had happened to Kurt out of Burt, and as she looked in on the sleeping form of her own son; big, gangly, not the brightest but _hers_, she wondered how _anybody_ could hurt their own child.

* * *

><p>Blaine had nearly full on panicked when Julia had gently told him they had to return home, and was only dragged from the hospital, tears still pouring over his cheeks, with many assurances from both Julia, Cooper and Burt that he could return tomorrow.<p>

Now, he sat in his own house, in his pyjamas in the early hours of the morning and utterly _exhausted_, wrapped up in blankets on the couch in their sitting room, his mother and brother either side of them.

"Blaine, honey, what happened?" Julia asked, voice soft but determined; she wanted an explanation this time. He leaned into her, closing his eyes.

"When-" stop, breathe. "When Kurt came round the other day. He. I'd grabbed his arm, after school, just gently, but he winced. The one that wasn't broken and he…_ he winced_. And I. I pushed his sleeve up, and saw- saw the bruises, fingers shaped bruises and he went into shock and I had to get him _out_ of there, so I brought him back here and I asked him to please please tell me what was going on, and in my room, he told me-" Blaine stopped, sucking in another huge breath. He could feel both is mom and Cooper burning with questions, but they stayed silent, leaning against him and giving him silent support and love so strong he couldn't help but cry harder, struck with how lucky he was, how Kurt hadn't had this for eight years.

"His father hit him." Silence met that statement, before a creak by the doorway had them all turning to see Andrew standing there, hand frozen in the act of loosening his tie and socked feet flexing on the floor, expression shocked.

"What's going on?" He asked, eventually, taking a hesitant step before halting again, eyes flickering over Blaine's tear-stained face. Blaine stared at his father, and something broke a little.

"My- friend. Well. He's more than that, but right now… we haven't really defined it yet." Blaine said, watching Andrew. Andrew stared back. "He's… you probably won't like him." Blaine gave a dismal shrug, and Julia frowned, but nobody interrupted. He was speaking to all of them, but he was looking at his dad. "He's effeminate, and he has a voice like an angel and the most amazing, outrageous fashion sense I've ever seen. I love him. And-" Blaine's voice broke again, but for some reason, the way his gaze was locked with his father's kept him grounded. He wanted Andrew to understand. "Two days ago, I found out that his dad is an alcoholic who hits him. Hits him because he's gay, because he's not the kind of son that he wanted, hits him because he's angry. And today- today Kurt was in the hospital.

"He had to go to _hospital_. His father broke his arm, his ribs, dislocated his jaw, and he has scars that will never go away, and that's just the physical damage. He was- _abused_. For eight years, by his father, and _nobody_ noticed until now." Blaine finished, panting heavily and somehow on his feet, while Julia stared up at him with her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes, Cooper's gaze unfocused and caught somewhere between outrage and a bone-deep sadness, while Blaine stared at his own father.

Because as much as he hated it, as hard as it was that his father didn't know how to talk to him anymore, he was still his father, still his dad. And Blaine still loved him.

Andrew stood awkwardly for a few moments, staring down at the top of Blaine's head as his son hugged him, before his arms instinctively closed around Blaine; an action that was stilted from disuse but still _there_.

It was Blaine who let go and turned to Cooper, who led him upstairs, and his dad still didn't say anything.

But that was okay.

Kurt slept in a drugged, hazy sleep, Burt sat by his bedside, dry-eyed and lost in analysing memories frantically, searching for what he'd missed for so long. Carole tossed and turned, thoughts running troubled through her brain. Cooper lay beside his little brother again, holding him as he cried, while Julia sat on the couch, handkerchief clutched in her hand, well past dawn.

And Blaine hoped that his father understood what he'd been trying to tell him.

* * *

><p><strong>Welp. That's the last chapter. (which I simultaneously didn't want to write because NO MY BABY WHY ARE YOU ENDING but also wanted to finish because… achievement.) Last chapter.<strong>

**Until ****the sequel****, that is. ;P okay, that was mean, but I couldn't resist. My life is exams and sleep loss right now, let me have my fun. (Honestly though, who panicked? ;)**

**The decision to split the story into two made sense to me; the sequel will focus on the aftermath of all of this, from the healing to therapy to the Glee club's reactions to Klaine's relationship to Hudmel family problems - it's going to be awesome and just as emotionally traumatising for all of us, hopefully. **

**It still hasn't got a name - if anyone has any suggestions about that, please drop me a review. Another thing I'd like to ask is if anybody wants to make a cover for this story? I don't know if any of you are artistic, but if anybody was inclined I would really, really appreciate it. I'd also probably melt into a pile of gooey gratitude and love you forever. :) **

**The BIGGEST thank you in existence to my beta, you deserve to be showered with sparkles and rainbows; thank you so so so much for doing this for me. I love you! XD**

**And because I've taken so long with this, I'm giving you a preview of the sequel. I say proper thanks at the end of that, so enjoy:**

* * *

><p>Three fractured ribs, four if you counted the one they had to reset. Severe bruising all across his torso, arms, legs, face and back. His arm had to be reset and recast, the strain he'd put on the broken limb having moved the broken shards of bone around. His jaw had been dislocated. His entire body was littered with a multitude of scars that pointed towards years of regular abuse, and his bones and muscles showed signs of just as many years of malnutrition. He was still underweight for his age.<p>

Cuts and bruises and scars, all layered on top of each other in a horrific display that Kurt Eleryn had hidden from the world for almost eight years, back when the abuse had apparently started.

He had no considerably close friends up until recently, when he'd joined his school's glee club, and appeared to be bullied by the majority of the student body. His marks weren't abysmally low but barely scraped average, dipping lower now and then at points when, she suspected, the abuse at home had gotten worse.

All in all, it was one of the worst cases Amelia Mason had seen in her ten years as a teenager's psychologist. She'd started out with pretty severe cases as it was - no high school therapy sessions for her - but she hadn't seen one this bad in almost seven years. The last one had been a fourteen year old girl named Karen, but Amelia's success with her wasn't helping to boost her confidence.

Never had she seen a teenager this badly abused who'd been _hiding_ it for this long. From the outside, Kurt Eleryn looked, to all extents and purposes, like a slightly nervous, shy student with a daring fashion sense, below average marks in all of his classes but French and a few close friends.

She had been able to tell just from looking at the shell shocked expressions of Kurt's uncle, Burt Hummel, and the as yet unnamed boy next to him that the extent of Kurt's abuse had come as a complete bomb shell. Which did not bode well for helping Kurt admit he needed help, needed to talk to her, and recover.

Resolutely not sighing, Amelia drew herself up and approached Kurt's hospital room. Kurt had woken up briefly, after three days, but had been completely incoherent; escalating into a full blown panic attack, the teenager had had to be sedated.

He was being kept under, for the time being, but it didn't look good. Visiting hours didn't start for another half an hour, but she wasn't surprised to see Burt and another boy, both very frequent visitors, already waiting outside the room to be let in.

"Mr Hummel?" The man looked up, eyes still red rimmed and haunted, the lines in his face deep and expression weary. "Hi, I'm Dr Amelia Mason, I'm Kurt's therapist?" Burt blinked a little.

It had been a week since Kurt had been brought into the hospital - more than long enough to find a therapist for an obviously abused child (especially if you had a nurse as determined and caring as Carole Hudson on your side) but Burt looked surprised at her presence.

"I- it's nice to meet you." He cleared his throat, but grasped her hand firmly and shook it. She smiled at him - not too wide, not very happily.

"Hi, Dr Mason." She introduced herself to the boy next to Burt, curious about his identity, and the boy shook himself, shaking her hand.

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"Nice to meet you Blaine. I wondered if I could talk to you about Kurt's condition, and ask you both about what you knew of his situation?" Diving straight in had always been Amelia's way; she found that grief-stricken, often angry and scared relatives or friends of abuse victims rarely had the patience for dilly-dallying.

Blaine immediately paled, and she knew he was the one she wanted to talk to.

"Blaine, if I could start with you? If you'd just come this way…?" She trailed off, watching as Burt frowned and turned to her.

"I'm Kurt's uncle, I get to hear what's going on, right?" She was shaking her head before he finished the sentence.

"As his uncle and his guardian, you will be involved in Kurt's therapy and treatment. However I would like to speak to both of you separately before we finalise any plans. I hope that's acceptable? Carole called me in, she has all my credentials if you'd like to take a look…" Burt looked marginally less upset about it all at the mention of Carole's name, and with a nod he backed down.

She turned to Blaine, who nodded, and followed her, subdued, down the hall and into a private doctor's office Carole had managed to get for her. Carole was an old friend from college, where they'd crossed paths - being in vaguely similar fields.

"So, Blaine, what's your relationship to Kurt?" Instantly, Blaine flushed, and Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"I…um. We haven't really- uh." Still a rather spectacular red, Blaine stuttered and looked down at his hands, which were knotted together tightly.

"I'm assuming you're a little more than friends?" She prodded, and Blaine's eyes flashed, expression evening out and hardening as he met her gaze.

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, Blaine. You have to understand - I'm not forcing you to say anything. I just want to help Kurt, and… well, I'll be honest with you; right now it doesn't look too good." Blaine's expression folded in on itself.

"What… what do you mean? He hasn't woken up yet- I thought they were keeping him sedated? They can wake him up, right?" The words poured from Blaine's mouth in a panic, and Amelia blinked at the amount of concern the boy had for Kurt.

"They can, Blaine. Calm down. I hadn't realised you didn't know. They probably informed Burt, and he most likely forgot to tell you, but they let Kurt wake up a couple of days ago." She explained, watching worriedly as Blaine's face paled. She was starting to suspect that she was going to end up with more than one patient. She couldn't say she was upset about it, already endeared to Blaine by the sheer amount he seemed to _care_.

"When he woke up, he was incoherent, screaming and panicking. They had to sedate him again for his own safety." Amelia watched, curious and working harder than she usually had to to keep herself detached. Blaine's hands fisted in his lap.

"He was like that- before the Ambulance came."

"Panicked?" Blaine nodded shortly, still staring at his hands.

"He was- I…" Blaine trailed off again, one hand coming up to rub his forehead. Amelia appraised him.

"Start from the beginning, Blaine." She couldn't stop herself from starting slightly when Blaine just looked at her dismally.

"You sure? That's a long story." He replied, voice empty, but when she nodded his gaze dropped again.

"I… I met Kurt on the day I transferred to McKinley…"

* * *

><p><strong>Phew. Okay. I almost don't know what to say, but I know that as soon as I start typing this I won't be able to shut up.<strong>

**So the most important thing to say is THANK YOU. Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who took the time to read, who favourite and story alerted, who talked to me through reviews. I've made some wonderful friends writing this story, and while it's been an emotional roller coaster I've really enjoyed it. I hope you guys have too, and I can't wait to see you all again for the sequel.**

**Unfortunately, both me and my beta are reaching that point in our education where we have exams, big exams, basically all the time. As I want to get ahead on the sequel before posting to try and keep updating time more regular, and because I won't have much time, I regret to say that the sequel will not be quick in coming. I'm truly sorry for this, and as both an apology and a thank you, I would like to give ****every single person who reviews a drabble****. :D**

**Not only do I want to do this for you guys to show my appreciation, but it will also help me keep up with my writing within my limited time constraints. So, rules are as follows:**

**Each person may only request ****one**** drabble. Please, I do not have a lot of time and I want everybody to get one.**

**You may ask for anything, in the HiR 'verse or canon or au, angst or fluff or friendship or romance or whatever, but please ****no smut****. References to smut are fine, but I am nowhere near comfortable or confidant enough to write sex. Also, pairings: I don't mind the majority of pairings, but I really do not like romantic kurtofsky.**

**So everybody either request what you would like me to write for you in a review, or a PM, or drop me a message on tumblr, where I'm living-in-a-mindpalace . tumblr . com (take out the spaces, you know the drill). I will write pretty much anything, but I'm talking within the 500-1000 words kind of length, so no really long requests please.**

**You may request a drabble on anon, if you don't want to sign in to tumblr of ff, but please give me some kind of name so I know who to dedicate it to and you can recognise it!**

**I'm going to post the drabbles in a separate fic on here, probably called something like 'HiR reviewers' drabbles', and also on tumblr. This 'request a drabble' will go on until I post the sequel.**

**I cannot guarantee that your drabble will be quick, I cannot guarantee you will like it, but I promise you that I will write it for you. I hope everybody has fun with ideas, and I hope this goes at least a small way towards showing you how much I appreciate every single one of you.**

**Thank you again, and see you soon!**


	19. The Sequel is Hapening

So.

You know what this means.

IT'S TRUE! THIS IS REAL! IT'S ACTUALLY HAPPENED! The first chapter of the sequel to Hiding in Reflections, called 'Shards' is now officially up. Go, frolic in my angst :D

See ya over there! X


End file.
